Christmas became something for me at Montgomery Wards
When my big sis introduced me to
The Man
I may have been carrying a full load, or creating one (seemed distracted)
Anyway, I have come to post my little Christmas story here ever season
Gotten to be some sorta tradition for me
Can't stop now
Christmas 1954
I knew what was comingâŚ.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, andâŚ.the presents.
I just took it all in, quietly, unassuming, sizing things up.
(âHmm, so this happens, say, every yearâŚhuhâ)
I never said much for, oh, about twenty some years, and at four didnât 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 wasnât much of a bother to anyoneâŚto the point of, to some extent, non-existence.
Mom forgot me at the Montgomery Wards store once.
Huge multi-storied storeâŚfascinating.
She eventually came back and got me even though I wasnât quite done window shopping.
I wonder how far out of the store she got, or did she get halfway home, or even home and realize, sitting the table, that, hey, the tiny person that normally occupies 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 sight when folks came over.
Ever once in a while someone would ask,
âAnd whatâs your name young man?â
âDad, itâs me, Gary.â
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.
Iâd say it was around 6pm, 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 couldnât help but observe the fake happiness and surprise from everyone as they opened their giftsâŚeveryone but Grampa. He was rather gruff, and had a habit of saying exactly what he thought.
âI already have a tie.â
I loved him.
Didnât 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 toysâŚ..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 didnât bother me a whit. I loved it all.
But I remember the look on my Dadâs face as he watched me haul them outta the bag.
He was ashamed.
I felt like saying something comfortingâŚbut didnât.
My feelings of making the situation even harder on him by not saying âitâs OKâ 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 dreamâŚthe freaking nightmare.
But in my early years of fatherhood I came to understand.
He was from an era that dictated those thingsâŚ.âthingsâ.
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 neighborâs 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 âem outta the newspaper, disintegrating in their little ink stained hands.
However, as my lady wiped last Wednesdayâs 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 toysâŚthe one that would give back.
My eldest named the little puppy from the pound, Felix.
Felix the dogâŚhey, it was original.
Only he was too young to pronounce the name Felix, so it came out âjuwixâ.
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.
âJuwixâŚ.JuuuuwixâŚheeeere Juwixâ
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 voiceâŚâJuwixâŚ.JuuuuwixâŚheeeere Juwixâ.
Unfortunately we found Juwix.
He was under a gap in the wood pileâŚrather 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.
...and, over the years, I've kinda turned the tables a bit
, Christmas food & candy, Christmas carols,
lol
