It was just about this time of year, roughly sixty-years ago, when our parents assigned my sister and me to a very, very serious task – to create a list for Santa Claus.
Obediently, we sat at the kitchen table and thoughtfully jotted down our hopes and wishes for gifts from Saint Nick. This one particular Yule Season found my sister wanting girl stuff, largely consisting of Barbie’s play sets and baby dolls, of course.
I, on the other hand, desperately
needed construction equipment to finish the highway I was building in the
sandbox. This major project was put
on-hold due to cold weather and accompanying upstate
Tomorrow, after church, was when we were to make sugar cookies from scratch, and later decorate them with homemade edible paints. They were usually a bit burned, but only around the edges. Not to worry; the singe marks would be hidden by the vibrant red, green, blue, and yellow food coloring/egg wash paints.
Dad had Ray Conniff’s Christmas record playing on the Hi-Fi, readying the tree for the wobbly stand, while the cooking decorating proceeded. It was a magical time. As if by magic, the Christmas holiday spirit had appeared in the form of traditions and enjoyed by all.
Still carefully painting, my sister and I gave it our all. We decorated the pale sweet treats with caution and aplomb, demonstrated by our tongues poking against our cheeks, intently staring at the progress as though we were in a trance. I wonder if Picasso operated like this.
Nonetheless, I recall those times with great fondness evident by a smile these memories still evoke.
Eventually, after weeks of Christmas movies and music and snow shoveling and snow shoveling and snow shoveling, Christmas Eve had finally arrived. We were almost at the last door of the Advent calendar meaning Santa would stop by at midnight!
All the decorating, tree trimming, Ray Conniff singing, snow shoveling, and road planning left me drained; I slept well until I was awakened by the aroma of French Toast.
My sister beat me to the parlor – we had a parlor which, for your information, is a room built and used largely by anyone not living in our house – where the tinseled tree proudly stood.
We were forced to have breakfast before opening the great volume of packages from the North Pole. Needless to say, we ate quickly.
Giddy, we realized Santa didn’t disappoint, once again. Except for the socks and underwear, that is.
Fast forward to 2022, and things have changed dramatically. A new family, a different house, a son who closely resembles a midget in a cat costume, and different goals, all bring a new perspective to this age-old celebration.
But a celebration it is. It is about the coming of Baby Jesus, our Savior. The gifts and memories are all related to this religious instance, though.
It was neither the Barbie doll nor the Tonka bulldozer that we were being gifted. Jesus was the gift given to humankind to save our souls. The believing and hope and love – all the rest – is up to us. Never forget.
Merry Christmas!
