Saturday, December 26, 2009

We are supposed to be gloriously happy that is Christmas. Actually, it is Advent and shopping season. The merchants are either happy or anxious. I used to enjoy Christmas, but as my family grew up and moved away, there seemed to be no point in purchasing a tree and putting it up. You just have to take it down again.

I have many happy memories of Christmas when I was a little girl growing up during world war two. Most materials went for the war effort, so there was little left over to make toys for children. My doll highchair was made of cardboard, but that did not matter to me. My pull toys were made of wood. To this day, I think that wood is a better material to handle than plastic is. One friend got something made of plastic. She showed it to me. My response was that it felt sticky. Wood is friendlier. Christmas is enjoying experiences with parents and relatives. It is making cookies with mama. It is being taken to the department store to visit Santa. It is having dad drive up and down the neighborhood streets so We could look at lights. It is listening to Christmas music on the radio. ...making stars out of tin foil and putting them on the tree...watching Dad's train go around the base of the tree. That train never came out of its box except for Christmas. Christmas is finding the pickle ornament on the tree...and the ghost ornament...something left over from a Halloween party that my grandmother impulsively put on the tree. It became a tradition. Note that none of the above require much money.
Those old black and white photographs of the era are treasure to me.

When my children were little, the magic happened all over again. This time Richard and I were standing in for Santa. Our neighbors put their tree up early, but Santa brought our tree. It appeared like magic on Christmas morning with presents under the tree. After the girls outgrew Santa, they helped put the tree up. One Christmas, our neighbors came over for a visit. We showed them the presents for our girls to discover the next morning. Little did We know that both little devils were hiding and listening. I did the same thing when I was little. My mother would lock the door that separates the bedrooms from the public space. In that way, my parents could put the tree up and decorate without little kids finding out . ...except....my sister and I were hiding behind the couch. We fell asleep behind the couch...affording us an early start at opening presents. Christmas is magic for children, except when it isn't.

Later I was teaching at a poverty intervention program: a nursery school for very poor children. I saw how excited the children got to see toys advertised on TV. They expected those toys. The worried look on the parents' faces told another story. We did holiday activities at the school...learned songs...made presents for the parents.....read Dr. Seuss....had a party and invited the parents to attend. Then they went home for the holiday. When they came back the looks on the children's faces was somber. The parents bought the presents they could afford, which came from the drug store....just trinkets. The cheap toys broke. Children got a lesson in disappointment.

This year, my grandson visited for Christmas. His girlfriend doesn't like the holiday. She must have sad memories . Sometimes it is OK to spend Christmas crying. My husband died during the month of November. The following December, I took the boxes of Christmas ornaments out of the closet and threw them on the floor. Then I stomped on the boxes and ground the heels of my shoes into the ornaments until they were shards of glass. I smashed every one and I am glad I did that. Merry Christmas, indeed.

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