The Child in Me

     The magic of youth is embedded in our honored family traditions. I was blessed with parents who loved everything about Christmas. Soon after the Thanksgiving holiday, we loaded up in the station wagon and drove to a nearby tree farm. The four of us, Dad, Mom, brother and I, trekked deep into the thicket to find the perfect Christmas tree. Mind you, this was the 1970’s in northern Indiana, so you can be sure we were knee deep in snow. Once we got home, Dad spent what seemed like hours trimming the tree in the garage. When he finally brought in the sappy, sweet smelling pine, my brother and I jumped at the task of putting on the colorful lights, glass bulbs, tinsel, and candy canes. Dad taped a life-sized plastic Santa mural to the front door and illuminated the big picture window of our tiny 1950’s bungalow with a string of large multi-colored lights. The mood was set and our Christmas spirit was high. 

Christmas 1967

     That was just the beginning of a month-long series of traditions. While we always had three squares a day, snacking and junk food in general wasn’t a regular part of our diet. All that changed when the decorations were up. A bowl of ready-to-crack nuts was placed in the living room, and a huge box of assorted chocolates sat on top of the clothes dryer in the kitchen. Mom’s favorites, a store-bought fruit cake and chocolate-covered cherries, were in the fridge. About a week before Christmas, Mom made a huge batch of homemade sugar cookies that my brother and I decorated. It was a sweet explosion and we were ever grateful for it. 

     Daily postal deliveries during the month of December were oddly memorable for me. I specifically recall going to the mailbox with Mom. She received Christmas cards every year from people I didn’t know. The cards were addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Blake and family. That card was addressed to me too! As a child, the thought of getting festive mail once a year from far-away relatives and friends was magical. 

     On Christmas Eve we went out to dinner, something we rarely did throughout the year. Gene’s restaurant was our go-to place, and I ordered fried chicken as usual. On the way home from our fancy sit-down dinner, I watched out the backseat window for Santa. Dad told us we had to get home quickly so Santa would know to stop. We put out cookies and milk and scurried off to bed. 

     The next morning my brother and I were up before the sun. The first thing I spotted was my stuffed stocking hanging on the bedroom door knob. Every year Santa gave us a huge orange and apple, and a Lifesaver story book. My favorite flavors were butterscotch and wintergreen. We tiptoed down the short hallway to the living room to look in awe at the overflowing gifts beneath the tree. We wouldn’t dare wake our parents before the sun rose. Fortunately, they were just as eager to see our excited faces as we were to open the gifts. Afterwards, we sat down for breakfast and ate half a grapefruit topped with sugar. Though my brother and I didn’t care much for the bitter fruit, we learned to appreciate the custom. 

     Christmas holiday traditions continue to bring me incredible joy. Some of my childhood traditions have evolved or been replaced, but many remain unchanged. Every year I prepare a stack of Christmas cards. In an age where everything has gone digital, I simply refuse to change. Families with small children receive a Santa card addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Xyz and Family. 

     The tradition continues. And who knows, perhaps these children will experience the same excitement as I did. Next week I’ll bake sugar cookies and my grandchildren will decorate them, just as I did fifty years ago. The child in me will continue to honor and recreate the magic of these holiday traditions for as long as I am able.