What's Your Fondest Memory of Christmas as a Kid?

Youngster

Youngster

Member
I recall back in the early 1960's my parents would bundle us kids up in the evening and take us into the city. We would walk for blocks down one side of the street and back up the other. It was cold and snowy out. Every department store window was fully decorated with wonderful Christmas displays. Christmas music could be heard as we walked along. Lights and Christmas decorations transformed the streets. It was a magical time.
 

My sisters (4 of us) shared beds and bedrooms; two bedrooms, each bedroom had a double bed. The two bedroom doors were directly across the hall from each other. To keep us from getting up too early on Christmas morning and catch Mother in the act of prepping all the toys and gifts under the tree while playing Santa, Mom would tie our doors shut, across the hall from each other with a rope!! :ROFLMAO: :ROFLMAO::ROFLMAO::ROFLMAO:

So, at dawn she would hear the doors rattling and banging open and close, all four of us giggling and trying to escape and see what Santa brought us!
 

Going downtown to see Santa and the store windows.

The biggest department store in town had an auditorium on the 12th floor and Santa would be set up in there. Sometimes there would be a little train to take us around the room up to Santa's chair. Sometimes there was a Winter Wonderland play area with slides, etc. After seeing Santa and getting our pictures taken, we'd get something from Santa's helper.....a little coloring book or a candy cane or a tiny toy.

But first, we'd walk around looking at the department store windows to see the animated displays and we'd get hot chocolate. We'd stop and listen to the little Salvation Army band playing on the corner. We'd make a brief visit to the toy department to wonder at all the magnificence there.

The streets were all decorated with lights strung all over the place. It was magical.
 
Christmas dinner.

In the height of the Australian Summer we would have a baked dinner at 1.00 pm with roast chicken and sliced ham followed by hot steamed pudding and custard.

We only ate chicken three times a year - Christmas Day, New Year's Day and Easter Sunday. It was a special treat. The steamed pudding contained silver coins, mostly threepences and sixpences.
 
My favourite story about Christmas is when my father bought home our first pine Christmas tree., he bought it from the local fruit shop. He never had a car so had to bring it home on the bus, how embarrassing. We were so excited, and my mother got a bucket of wet sand to stand the tree in. My sisters and I made streamers a few days before and draped them on the tree. We made little red ribbon bows and threaded silver tinsel
garlands around the tree. Mum bought a few little Christmas ornaments which she tied on the branches. It looked beautiful, and when the coloured lights were switched on it look like fairyland. I only wish we had a camera to take a photo of it, but that picture still remains in my mind, and I think back when days were simpler, and we were grateful for small mercies.
 
You got me thinking but most of it would be a bore to others. A pair of pajamas, A jigsaw puzzle, a board game. The fun was sharing and visiting friends and getting treats. In later years a trip to the city or singing around the tree downtown. Lots of lights and Christmas carols. Candle light service at the church.
 
this may or may not work as i can no longer see to cut/paste my writings

but.....

a good memory'

Christmas 1954
I knew what was coming….really, for once I knew.
The tree, the lights, the bubbling ones, the tinsel, the snow outside, the oil stove warming everyone (that stood smack dab on the stove),the windows adorned with Christmas icing, and….the presents.
I just took it all in, quietly, unassuming, sizing things up.
(‘Hmm, so this happens, say, every year…huh’)

I never said much for, oh, about twenty some years, and at four didn’t say anything, ever.
I cast a rather small shadow, and more than a few times got left at places. Not on purpose, but I just wasn’t much of a bother to anyone…to the point of, to some extent, non-existence.
Momforgot me at the Montgomery Wards store once.
Huge multi-storiedstore…fascinating.
She eventually came back and got me eventhough I wasn’t quite done window shopping.
I wonder how far outof the store she got, or did she get halfway home, or even home andrealize, sitting the table, that, hey, the tiny person that normallyoccupies the booster seat is not here.

I really enjoyed the anonymity.
It gave me time to take in all I could, and remain in my own thoughts.
Kids were pretty much trained to be out of sightwhen folks came over.
Ever once in a while someone would ask,

‘And what’s your name young man?’

‘Dad, it’s me, Gary.’

My sis would take my hand and guide me over to the tree, pointing out each and every glittery thing.
It was a no shit moment, but knew it made her feel good, so let it happen.

The day came.

I should say the day before came, as we traditionally opened gifts on Christmas eve.

Gramma and Grampa came down the hill to participate.
I’d say it was around6pm, as it was dark out and everybody had already eaten.
My sis played santy, handing gifts to Gramma and Grampa.
I was busy watching while trying to crack the walnuts and Brazil nuts from my stocking.
I couldn’t help but observe the fake happiness and surprise from everyone as they opened their gifts…everyone but Grampa. He was rather gruff, and had a habit of saying exactly what he thought.

‘I already have a tie.’

I loved him.
Didn’t even give much thought to that emotion back then, but now I know I loved him.

It came to be my turn to open my gifts.
Not a big trick, as my stuff was in a large sack.
It was a sack full of toys…..cars, trucks, a harmonica, and some little bags of hard candy.
The thing is, the toys were all kinda beat up, trucks with missing wheels, and everything was a bit scuffed, dented and rusty in places.
It didn’t bother me a whit. I loved it all.
But I remember the look on my Dad’s face as he watched me haul them outta the bag.
He was ashamed.
I felt like saying something comforting…but didn’t.
My feelings of making the situation even harder on him by saying ‘it’s OK’ won out.
Every Christmas after that was huge.

Funny, not haha funny, but oddly strange, my thoughts on his mental processes.
For years I rather pitied him for toiling to get us what he thought was what we wanted.
Him, the bread winner, the toy winner, the house, food and warmth provider.
How he fell head first into the American dream…the freaking nightmare.
But in my early years of fatherhood I came to understand.
He was from an era that dictated those things….’things’.

Christmas 1972
We were a tad impoverished.
Poverty stricken was a status I was striving for.
We managed a few meager toys from the five and dime, and wrapped them in newspaper, placing them under the tree limb from the neighbor’s backyard that had miraculously blown down from one of their giant firs.
We watched the boys unwrap their tinsel strength early China bobbles.
They lasted almost long enough to get ‘em outta the newspaper, disintegrating in their little ink stained hands.
However,as my lady wiped last Wednesday’s headlines from their fingers so they could drink their mug of hot cinnamon tea and suck one their tiny candy canes, I whipped out to the truck to bring in the toy of toys…the one that would give back.

My eldest named the little puppy from the pound, Felix.
Felix the dog…hey, it was original.
Only he was too young to pronounce the name Felix, so it came out ‘juwix’.
The thing is, a few moments after cleaning up the vomit and diarrhea from the truck seat, floorboard and doors, and myself, it dawned on me that Felix may not have been the best of finds.
The next morning my eldest seemed to have lost track of him, so we both went looking.

‘Juwix….Juuuuwix…heeeere Juwix’

I got a kick out of his determination in locating his new little buddy, trudging around the yard, big cheeks housed upon his tiny neck earnestly calling out with his baby Elmer Fudd like voice…‘Juwix….Juuuuwix…heeeere Juwix’.

Unfortunately we found Juwix.
He was under a gap in the wood pile…rather stiff.
So, as my Dad, twenty some years before, I vowed to provide a better Christmas for the years to come.
Not lavish ones, but ones that bore a couple substantial gifts for each of my little beings.

Christmas now?

Keep yer tie money.
 
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My little sister was about 5 at the Christmas celebrations at our house. Grandparents were there and my mother asked grandad to dress up as Santa and surprise my little sister. He put on a large red dressing gown, red hat and cotton wool around his face and sat on the lounge. My little sister was in awe of him, and he said in his large Scottish accent, "Have you been a good girl all year? Well, here are some sweets for you", and she said, "I know who you are, your Grandad". You couldn't fool her, and he started laughing. Oh, what good memories.
 
Gary O' said:
this may or may not work as i can no longer see to cut/paste my writings

but.....

a good memory'

Christmas1954
I knew what was coming….really, for once I knew.
Thetree, the lights, the bubbling ones, the tinsel, the snow outside,the oil stove warming everyone (that stood smack dab on the stove),the windows adorned with Christmas icing, and….the presents.
Ijust took it all in, quietly, unassuming, sizing things up.
(‘Hmm,so this happens, say, every year…huh’)

I never said muchfor, oh, about twenty some years, and at four didn’t say anything,ever.
I cast a rather small shadow, and more than a few times gotleft at places. Not on purpose, but I just wasn’t much of a botherto anyone…to the point of, to some extent, non-existence.
Momforgot me at the Montgomery Wards store once.
Huge multi-storiedstore…fascinating.
She eventually came back and got me eventhough I wasn’t quite done window shopping.
I wonder how far outof the store she got, or did she get halfway home, or even home andrealize, sitting the table, that, hey, the tiny person that normallyoccupies the booster seat is not here.

I really enjoyed theanonymity.
It gave me time to take in all I could, and remain inmy own thoughts.
Kids were pretty much trained to be out of sightwhen folks came over.
Ever once in a while someone wouldask,

‘And what’s your name young man?’

‘Dad,it’s me, Gary.’

My sis would take my hand and guide meover to the tree, pointing out each and every glittery thing.
Itwas a no shit moment, but knew it made her feel good, so let ithappen.

The day came.

I should say the day before came,as we traditionally opened gifts on Christmas eve.

Gramma andGrampa came down the hill to participate.
I’d say it was around6pm, as it was dark out and everybody had already eaten.
My sisplayed santy, handing gifts to Gramma and Grampa.
I was busywatching while trying to crack the walnuts and Brazil nuts from mystocking.
I couldn’t help but observe the fake happiness andsurprise from everyone as they opened their gifts…everyone butGrampa. He was rather gruff, and had a habit of saying exactly whathe thought.

‘I already have a tie.’

I lovedhim.
Didn’t even give much thought to that emotion back then,but now I know I loved him.

It came to be my turn to open mygifts.
Not a big trick, as my stuff was in a large sack.
It wasa sack full of toys…..cars, trucks, a harmonica, and some littlebags of hard candy.
The thing is, the toys were all kinda beat up,trucks with missing wheels, and everything was a bit scuffed, dentedand rusty in places.
It didn’t bother me a whit. I loved itall.
But I remember the look on my Dad’s face as he watched mehaul them outta the bag.
He was ashamed.
I felt like sayingsomething comforting…but didn’t.
My feelings of making thesituation even harder on him by saying ‘it’s OK’ won out.
EveryChristmas after that was huge.

Funny, not haha funny, butoddly strange, my thoughts on his mental processes.
For years Irather pitied him for toiling to get us what he thought was what wewanted.
Him, the bread winner, the toy winner, the house, food andwarmth provider.
How he fell head first into the Americandream…the freaking nightmare.
But in my early years offatherhood I came to understand.
He was from an era that dictatedthose things….’things’.

Christmas 1972
We were a tadimpoverished.
Poverty stricken was a status I was striving for.
Wemanaged a few meager toys from the five and dime, and wrapped them innewspaper, placing them under the tree limb from the neighbor’sbackyard that had miraculously blown down from one of their giantfirs.
We watched the boys unwrap their tinsel strength early Chinabobbles.
They lasted almost long enough to get ‘em outta thenewspaper, disintegrating in their little ink stained hands.
However,as my lady wiped last Wednesday’s headlines from their fingers sothey could drink their mug of hot cinnamon tea and suck one theirtiny candy canes, I whipped out to the truck to bring in the toy oftoys…the one that would give back.

My eldest named thelittle puppy from the pound, Felix.
Felix the dog…hey, it wasoriginal.
Only he was too young to pronounce the name Felix, so itcame out ‘juwix’.
The thing is, a few moments after cleaningup the vomit and diarrhea from the truck seat, floorboard and doors,and myself, it dawned on me that Felix may not have been the best offinds.
The next morning my eldest seemed to have lost track ofhim, so we both went looking.

‘Juwix….Juuuuwix…heeeereJuwix’

I got a kick out of his determination in locating hisnew little buddy, trudging around the yard, big cheeks housed uponhis tiny neck earnestly calling out with his baby Elmer Fudd likevoice…‘Juwix….Juuuuwix…heeeere Juwix’.

Unfortunatelywe found Juwix.
He was under a gap in the wood pile…ratherstiff.
So, as my Dad, twenty some years before, I vowed to providea better Christmas for the years to come.
Not lavish ones, butones that bore a couple substantial gifts for each of my littlebeings.

Christmas now?

Keep yer tie money.
Click to expand...
GaryO: Your post brought me such happiness this morning, and yes, nearly to some tears! Is this original, or from another source. It is wonderfully written! Thank you so much for sharing!

I nearly spilled my morning coffee due to laughing so hard when I read this part of your writing:

"I really enjoyed the anonymity.
It gave me time to take in all I could, and remain inmy own thoughts.
Kids were pretty much trained to be out of sightwhen folks came over.
Ever once in a while someone would ask,

And what’s your name young man?
Dad, it’s me, Gary."

:ROFLMAO: :ROFLMAO: :ROFLMAO:
 
My brother is 10 years younger than me. I was 16 and my parents were going to midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. I was supposed to put my little brother's toy together- it was a two story gas station. It was a big thing on TV at the time. It was hours of putting slot 36A into slot 36B in part M76. Aauuggghhhhh! When my parents came home, I thanked them for all the toys they put together for me.
 
I was playing on the floor. My mother was ironing, and listening to a morning radio program, which was some family sharing what they were doing for a half hour. I asked my mother something about the program. I can't remember my question, but she started explaining something about it to me. All that I remember is that she was taking time to tell me something I didn't know. I believe that may have been my first experience in understanding verbal communication. Unexpectedly, I was overwhelmed with love for my mother. That may have been my first experience with that particular emotion.

Edit: Oops! That was just my fondest memory. It had nothing to do with Christmas.
 
For Christmas, I guess it was when Santa came to my house. I was in the basement with my dad, when he said, "I think I hear Santa," and we ran upstairs. Santa had finished putting presents around the tree and was on his way out. He was wearing a mask, one of those full face masks made out of stiff fabric. I thought it was odd, but I just assumed he must do that sometimes. He talked to me briefly, and then left through the front door. I thought that was odd too, but I never questioned the reality of the situation.

My parents never told me who played Santa that night, not even when I was an adult, but I had figured it out by that time. It must have been my Uncle Everett. He was most likely the one. He was the kind of guy that would do that, and be perfect at it.
 
My fondest memory is the Food. Women in the family would gather to make dessert and cakes that were only made at the holidays.

A memory from when my children were young that we laugh about now but didn’t at the time…
my husband went into our pastures to cut down a Christmas tree and in dragging it home he unknowingly dragged it through a pile of cow manure. We, unknowingly, stood it up in house to be decorated that night. As the tree warmed up, the odor began to circulate throughout the room. A thorough investigation showed the odor coming from the tree and out the door it went. I was so thankful we had not yet decorated it.
 
Mumsy getting flustered that there is a present she cannot find anymore. I turned my innosence on and asked if she is talking about Elvis album she hid on top of the shoe cabinet?

Me getting condemned to stay at the table until I finished Mumsy's new concoction of chicory salad with grapefruit and a yoghurt dressing while everyone else opened presents in the living room. No amount of tears softened her. Grandmother finally had mercy and ate that stuff. Hey, I did not!
 
JustDave said:
I was playing on the floor. My mother was ironing, and listening to a morning radio program, which was some family sharing what they were doing for a half hour. I asked my mother something about the program. I can't remember my question, but she started explaining something about it to me. All that I remember is that she was taking time to tell me something I didn't know. I believe that may have been my first experience in understanding verbal communication. Unexpectedly, I was overwhelmed with love for my mother. That may have been my first experience with that particular emotion.

Edit: Oops! That was just my fondest memory. It had nothing to do with Christmas.
Click to expand...
:ROFLMAO:You made be laugh when you typed the "oops", Dave. Thank you.

But also, I want to thank you 🥰because what you used as an example makes me feel good as a woman who has raised four kids. I spent SOOO much time teaching and explaining - over 32 YEARS - to all my kids, while ironing, cooking, gardening, cleaning...and your post lets me know that perhaps I did make some sort of good memories for my kiddos! I tried, and I loved them all dearly, but it was the hardest work I've ever done! I so wanted to create adults who would contribute and be thankful for blessings.

They are all grown now and calls seldom come. I wish they did but then again, I just tell myself I must have done a good job because they all have well paying careers and pay hefty taxes to American society, and don't call me asking for handouts. (y) (y) (y) (y) Anytime I see them and hear them laugh my heart sings.
 
This isn't a particularly "fond" memory but: My mother raised four daughters and when we became early teens AQUANET hairspray was absolutely in vogue to maintain those stiff hair styles.

We girls would ALWAYS be raiding my mother's can of AQUANET hairspray and it would make her a tad angry if the can was empty just as she was finishing off her do before heading out to go to work in the mornings.

SO at 0500 on Christmas morning here was this rather large present under the tree. It was the size of a small television or record player on Christmas morning to ALL of us girls! We just knew that is what Santa had brought, as we all four SO wanted a small TV or record player in those days!

So we rrrriiiiipppppp this fabulous package open first and what is it?

A whole CASE of AQUANET hairspray-like 50 cans of the stuff!!!!

I have a photo somewhere of me sitting spraddle legged on the floor in front of the Christmas tree with the box between my knees, looking down at that box with incredulity on my face - like WTH????!!!! kind of GIFT is THIS!!!!! 😂🤣🤬🤬🤬🤬

What sort of SANTA does that???? My mother solved HER hairspray problem. I swore as a mother I would never do that to any kid I ever had.
 
One year in late spring, a large black and yellow garden spider built its web directly on the outside of the kitchen window of our farmhouse. The dining table sat right next to the kitchen window, and me and Gramps said good morning to the spider every day when we sat down to breakfast.

Gramps told me that garden spiders don't live long, and it would probably die naturally sometime in the fall, so we were surprised to see she was still there on Thanksgiving morning, and Gramps tapped the window to see if she would move.

She did, so Gramps asked me if I wanted to name her. I named her WhyJay; Y for yellow and J for jacket...Yellow-jacket.

When WhyJay was still in her web on Christmas morning, me and Gramps went outside and caught a big fat beetle, and stuck it in her web to see if she would eat it.

She went for it, so me and Gramps hurried back into the kitchen to have Christmas breakfast with old WhyJay.
 
Murrmurr said:
One year in late spring, a large black and yellow garden spider built its web directly on the outside of the kitchen window of our farmhouse. The dining table sat right next to the kitchen window, and me and Gramps said good morning to the spider every day when we sat down to breakfast.

Gramps told me that garden spiders don't live long, and it would probably die naturally sometime in the fall, so we were surprised to see she was still there on Thanksgiving morning, and Gramps tapped the window to see if she would move.

She did, so Gramps asked me if I wanted to name her. I named her WhyJay; Y for yellow and J for jacket...Yellow-jacket.

When WhyJay was still in her web on Christmas morning, me and Gramps went outside and caught a big fat beetle, and stuck it in her web to see if she would eat it.

She went for it, so me and Gramps hurried back into the kitchen to have Christmas breakfast with old WhyJay.
Click to expand...
Oh how lovely a story! 🥰 I used to do things like that with my kiddos...and God's creatures; there is so much beauty when we see.
 

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