A Christmas Memory

CHRISTMAS PAST
By Susan H.Miller

Christmas is a time of nostalgia. For those of us fortunate enough to have happy

memories, Christmas Past plays in our minds like vignettes from “A Christmas Carol.”


I can remember one Christmas long, long ago creeping down the stairs before dawn. My

father is carrying my little brother, while my sister and I follow behind. Mother, loaded

down with muffs and mittens, brings up the rear. We are whispering for no other reason

than that it is a magical day. We are careful not to steal a look into the living room,

where Santa has certainly come. My mother is wise enough to know that one look would

ruin her chances of getting us to mass – body and mind – on time.


We go out into the still and silent early morning, pile into the Pontiac, and make our way

through the darkened streets to church. But wait! There are lights in the windows; and as

we open the door, we see that the purple ribbons and Advent Wreath are gone. They are

replaced by giant, fragrant Christmas trees, feathery green wreaths with bright red

ribbons and poinsettias covering the altar. The majestic organ begins to play, and it is if

time has been suspended until just this moment.


Out in the trunk of our car, the turkey waits for us. This is an ongoing family joke. Every

year on Christmas Eve, My mother de-feathers the fresh turkey and places it in the

roasting pan. Then, lacking refrigerator room, the roaster is placed in the car, where the

Ohio winter serves nicely as a natural cooler. Mother likes to say the turkey goes to

church every Christmas. And, of course, she is right.


On to another Christmas morning when I am about eight years old. Mother unthinkingly

has sent me down to the basement storage cabinet for some canned vegetables for dinner

and I see, hanging on the clothesline, a beautiful ballerina dress! I pretend not to have

seen it, because, young as I am, I know it is meant to be a surprise. And sure enough, it is

presented to me moments later. I take in every inch of it –the pink bodice with

sparkling green sequins and the white cloud which is the skirt. It is the most beautiful

dress I have ever seen! .In the background, I see my mother’s Aunt Florence. It is she

who created this wonder, using an old-fashioned treadle sewing machine, and lovingly

sewing on each sequin by hand. Aunt Florence is a widow and has no children. So, she

loves every child she touches. How could she have known how much I wanted a dress

like this? It is the most wonderful Christmas gift I have ever known. It is not until years

later that I learn the real gift is her presence in my life.


Fast forward to my first Christmas with my new husband. We exchange the few gifts we

could fit into our budget on Christmas Eve, then drive into the city to gaze at the brightly

lit buildings while we listen to the car radio. We lack nothing in this world. The next

day would be my first attempt at a holiday dinner, with all his family coming. The food

would be served from a buffet table, which in reality is our ironing board covered with

festive wrapping paper. Everyone would be complementary about the food, as if it is the

best holiday dinner they have ever had.


My next “visit” comes five years later. We are celebrating our first Christmas with our

baby daughter. She is so tiny – only two months old. Her eyes catch the lights on the

tree, and she gives a bubbly smile, but she doesn’t really understand what’s going on.

Her father and I know, though. The world is brighter just because she is in it.


The Spirit of Christmas Past and I are flying faster now. We are in a rented furnished

place a thousand miles away from home. My husband, who is in the Air Force, has been

sent here for flight training. I have hand sewn a stuffed-animal pillow for our little girl,

and it is her favorite present. She sleeps with it until she is a teenager, when the fabric

has completely disintegrated. We have no ornaments nor Christmas decorations. But we

buy a tree, and adorn it with a popcorn garland and whatever might serve as a tree

adornment.



The next year, we are in California, but duty calls, and my husband is gone from

Christmas Eve until New Years Day. I’m trying to be a good Air Force Wife, but it’s not

easy. If only I could have known that a very special gift is already on its way that day

That present is our second daughter, born 8 ½ months later.


My mother dies one December 20th, and Christmas is hard to think about. But there are

three children who don’t quite understand. I remember the year my grandmother died on

Christmas Eve. That year there was Christmas anyway for us children. Can I do less?


I keep seeing my mother’s face each Christmas morning as she sat in a chair with all her

unopened presents around her. “Why don’t you open your gifts?” we asked every year,

puzzled at her seeming lack of interest. . She never gave a clear answer on that, but I

figured it out eventually. Her joy came from watching the pleasure everyone else got

from opening their gifts.


The Spirit of Christmas Past is almost through with me; but before he leaves, we make

one more stop. It is last Christmas Eve, and all my children with their families have

come to Mass with my husband and me. The little girls, mindful of their new velvet

Christmas dresses and patent leathers, are behaving, as my mother would say, like “little

ladies.” As we file into the pew, my son-in-law and I both spy a serviceman in uniform

seated just a few rows in front of us. Instinctively, we both shift our positions to block

him from the view of my youngest daughter. She, too, has married a military officer, and

he is in Iraq this Christmas.


The church is filled completely with smiling people of all ages, shrugging off dark winter

coats to reveal bright reds, greens and golds. There is a respectful silence, as we await

the beginning of the service. Then, all of a sudden, our 5 year old Tori glances down to

her neckline and sees the manufacturer’s label there. She announces to nobody in

particular that her dress is on backwards! This not only sends a ripple of repressed

laughter through the family, but it has also tickled the pew behind us. So, as mass begins,

there are two full rows of people trying to suppress their mirth.


As Christmas present enfolds, I can’t help thinking, despite all the grim condemnations of

the holiday as being “too commercial” and “godless,” that there’s room for hope.

Because more than the parties and good food, more than the bright lights, even more

than the lovely presents people were kind enough to give me, what I remember most are

the warm and wonderful memories of family over the years. God has been good to me.

Christmas sweaters and CD’s wear out, but any time I want, I can pull out the memory of

coming from work to find that my youngest had emptied the figures out of

the nativity scene and turned it into a Barbie singles bar; the time Mother forgot to serve

the vegetable she’d made for Christmas dinner; the smiles of grandparents and aunts and

uncles long gone, and, yes even the joy a little girl gave several people simply by wearing

her dress backwards..