The Ghost of Christmas Past
This year, some people are dreaming of a white Christmas. I’m dreaming of Christmas past.
In fact, as an adult, that’s all I find myself thinking about every year at this time.
It doesn’t elicit a terribly strong feeling. It’s not a yearning or a desperation. Just a quiet, calm wish with a tinge of sadness.
I wouldn’t say Christmas is a difficult time for me, and I’m really thankful for that because I know it is for many. No, I’ve always enjoyed this holiday.
In fact, I think it’s my favorite holiday.
In a few days…
I will drive to my mother’s house and spend several nights there. On Christmas Eve, I will join my father’s side of the family for a marvelous dinner, entertaining conversation, and remarkably generous gift-giving. Then I will leave the gathering for an hour or so to attend my childhood church’s Christmas Eve service with my parents.
On Christmas Day, my maternal half-brothers and their families will join Mom and me for a hearty lunch (including distastefully dry roast, my mother’s signature dish), games, and enthusiastic present unwrapping by the young children.
Some people will stay overnight. Others will leave the same day.
I will likely be the last child to depart, and while it’s just Mom and me, we will play Scrabble and watch whatever British shows/movies we are both interested in.
The whole holiday will be pleasant and stimulating, and I am looking forward to it.
But not nearly as much as I used to
When I was a kid, my maternal grandparents were still alive, and my maternal cousins and brothers were unmarried and childless, Christmas was THE BEST.
On Christmas Eve, the night was somehow always clear and velvety black or blue, the air crisp and still. My mom and I drove one block over to Grandma’s house which was totally decked out in multi-colored lights and a happy, waving Santa on the porch.
We entered the house through the creaky side door and were blanketed in the wonderfully warm, cozy atmosphere of the entranceway/laundry room. Just beyond, near the kitchen, several family members congregated around the large, wooden dining table, and they greeted us with smiles and hugs.
Then we slowly made our way to everyone else in the house to say hello: my uncle was usually lying on the floor with a pillow watching TV; Grandpa was always reclining in his chair watching TV; another couple of uncles might also be gathered nearby, watching TV (the TV was the most popular member of the family); my brothers were chatting with one another and with our cousins; Grandma was in the kitchen, talking with my aunts and getting food ready.
Christmas Eve was always chili-with-oyster-crackers night, and there was always a platter of deer sausage and little squares of cheese laid out on the kitchen counter. I can’t remember what we had to drink…was beer there? Was there alcohol of any kind?
Anyway, the decorations on the inside of the house almost rivaled those on the outside
As we both got older, Grandma bestowed upon me the exclusive role of chief Christmas tree ornamenteer (yes, I did just make that word up). By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, that tree was so thickly covered in lights and ornaments, the branches almost disappeared. It stood as a glowing, happy beacon in the unlit family room.
Under the tree was a mass of gifts collected from the adults in the family, and to its side sat the small manger scene which Grandma also let me arrange (and occasionally play with). I was always sure to place the angel on top of the little hay bail and to put baby Jesus precisely in the middle of all the action.
On each windowsill of the house shone electric candles. Taped around the doorway to the dining room were probably a hundred Christmas cards from the many townspeople and relatives who loved my grandparents. And there was always this little Frosty the Snowman near the living room couch that lit up and flashed different colors when his broom was moved forward (or was it backward?). I loved that little Frosty.
A Christmas Story played on the TV the entire evening. I think I can recite nearly the entire script from memory.
After some milling about and snacking…
Everyone bundled up, piled in their cars, and drove to church for the Christmas Eve service.
We always packed into the first couple pews on the righthand side of the sanctuary, abandoning Grandma and Grandpa’s typical seats in the fifth row.
Not a space was vacant in the whole church once the service began. It felt wonderfully safe and peaceful. I always tried to sit by Grandma or my favorite aunt, and whenever we sang a hymn, I always listened for that aunt’s beautiful voice.
The end of the service was the best part because I FINALLY got to turn on the little battery-powered candle I’d been given upon first entering the church. Somehow, everyone else in the sanctuary got their real candles lit and managed not to set anything on fire as we all sang “Silent Night”.
It was so fun seeing the faces of everyone I loved most lit up by flickering flame. It was so fun hearing them all sing. It was so fun just knowing they were all there, sitting around me.
After the service, we returned to Grandma’s house to hang out some more
As the night got later, some people drove back home. My favorite aunt and uncle always stayed overnight at Grandma’s because they lived fairly far away. My brothers all stayed overnight with Mom and me.
Oh, the anticipation.
At last. Christmas Day!
Wake up with a jolt of excitement. Get ready as fast and haphazardly as possible. Get downstairs. EVERYONE OPEN PRESENTS.
That’s right, everyone got presents. Not just the little kids. All the adults actually took the time to think about another person, consider what that person liked and was interested in, and then purchase and give a thoughtful gift to that person. It was a more caring, attentive, and loving time.
And, man, they sure did know how to choose excellent gifts.
Finally, our stomachs rumbling, we departed Mom’s house for Grandma’s again
After choruses of “Merry Christmas!” the reassembled family sat down to drink orange juice and eat scrambled eggs and sausages off Grandma’s black and purple plates.
Then we gathered enough folding chairs for everyone, arranged them in a circle in the living room, and began part two of present unwrapping. My favorite aunt always gave a good-natured gag gift to some unsuspecting soul (and a little extra something to me 😊). Grandma always received bird seed from my uncle. Grandpa always got lottery tickets from each family in the fervent hope that he would eventually strike it rich.
There was much laughter, conversation, togetherness, thoughtfulness, and occasionally, some annoyance (but not too much).
Afterward, we all languished contentedly amongst a sea of ribbons, bows, and shredded giftwrap, partaking of the traditional yuletide box of either cherry cordials or chocolate turtles, which was co-opted with questionable willingness from Grandpa. I was always absorbed with whatever new toy I had received.
As I grew older, my favorite aunt engaged me in a short scavenger hunt around the house
This was to the enjoyment of everyone except me as I was an extremely impatient, hot-tempered child who did not (and does not) have a proclivity for riddles.
One year, a clue was about my grandparents’ record player. The only problem was my grandparents didn’t have a record player.
Or so I believed.
Lo and behold, the damn thing was hidden within the bowels of a table, tucked away in a forlorn corner of the house. Apparently, record players can be built into furniture. And apparently, my grandparents listened to music. Who knew? (Everyone older than me, of course…)
Grandpa was the star of my final memorable Christmas event
Remember those lottery tickets he received earlier? Well, there was a slight problem. Grandpa couldn’t scratch them. Grandpa couldn’t scratch anything. Grandpa lost eight of his fingers in a farming accident right before my mother was born.
As a result, he needed a lottery ticket assistant and year after year, he chose me. It was such a cute experience, thinking back. He sat in his chair at the end of the kitchen counter and listened as I read the directions and pointed out what combination of numbers or symbols would win us big money. Then he’d watch each ticket like a hawk as I slowly revealed each one’s contents.
Grandpa, like my mother and one of my aunts, was always obsessed with making and winning money. As it was, the most he ever won from those tickets was around $11. But his face split into a broad grin and his arm pumped up and down in victory whenever I triumphantly announced, “One dollar!”
The final Christmas I ever shared with him was the only Christmas where I refused to scratch tickets. I think it hurt his feelings.
I desperately wish I could go back and make him feel more loved and appreciated
I wish I could go back and make my favorite aunt feel more loved and appreciated for her thoughtful little scavenger hunts.
I wish I could go back and hug my grandma again and watch her open bird seed as though she didn’t already know she was opening bird seed for the twelfth year in a row.
I wish I could go back and watch A Christmas Story on the floor with my uncle and his pillow.
I wish I could enjoy those little sausages for breakfast again, and that chili with oyster crackers, and the colorful lights of that little Frosty, and the brilliant glow of the Christmas tree, and the overwhelming cheer of all those letters taped to the dining room doorway, and the joyful, stressless life of a child, and the peace and perfection of those Christmas Eve nights walking to church with my whole world around me.
I wish current Christmases didn’t feel so barren and lifeless, while Christmas past feels so bright and exciting
I wish it didn’t feel like my family members no longer care to take the time and effort to learn about one another and express their love. I wish my family was less segmented and stressed.
I wish a lot of things were different.
But they aren’t.
And they won’t be.
And somehow, I need to find a way to enjoy and look forward to Christmas future and stop living in the past.
Any ideas?
Maybe one of these years I’ll figure it out.
At any rate, I hope anyone reading this finds joy, relaxation, love, hope, and whatever else they need this Christmas/holiday season.
And may the ghost of your Christmas past never cast its shadow over your Christmas present.
Post featured image: “paper stationary” by geralt