Monday, December 25, 2017

remembering Christmas past


I don't hate Christmas just because I don't 'do' Christmas, at least not now. There was a big chunk of years where the days between Thanksgiving and Christmas were my least favorite of the year. I never hated the actual days of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, days that, these days, I consider 'free' days, days when the whole world is quiet and there is no need to go out, days when I don't have expectations of what I might or might not accomplish, days when I might just sit on the couch and read or nap or wander in the yard though the only things blooming out there now are the roses.



I used to do Christmas. I was raised Christian and Christmas was a big deal at our house growing up.

Our father would put all his change every night all year in a jar when we were very young, before they became better-to-do, to save towards Christmas presents and every December he would dump it out on their bed and we would get to help count it, separating out the coins by denomination.

Along with the big colored outdoor lights on the house, the front door would always be covered with christmas wrapping paper with ribbon and a bow as if it were a giant christmas present.

Going to get the christmas tree was always a big deal and it seems like we always went at night. We had a tall peaked ceiling and would get the biggest tree that would fit, making the attendant shake out a dozen before deciding on the one.

About two weeks before Christmas we'd put up the tree and all the other decorations, Dad stringing the lights and Mother handing out the ornaments for us kids to hang, all kinds of cookies being made, popping the corn for the snowman, me creeping into the family room in the dark after everyone was asleep and plugging in the tree.

Our Christmas dinner was on Christmas Eve and it was a formal affair, our father in a tux with his red bow tie, vest, and socks, mother in an evening gown, brother in a suit, and my sister and I in our best fancy dresses, dinner table set formally and being served by the help and then heading to late services at the church.

One year I decided to stay awake and see if this Santa thing was real. Some amount of time after we were sent to bed, my father quietly called my name. He was checking all our rooms. When I responded he went back to the family room and after another period of time he repeated it. Though I was still awake I didn't respond, having had my answer and I went to sleep having woken to the myth.

Christmas morning we kids were allowed to go immediately to our beautiful handmade felt, sequined, and beaded stockings and the unwrapped gifts left by Santa but only our father could take packages out from under the tree. He would pick them up one at a time, call out the recipient's name and then hand us our present. Mother, of course, always got the lion's share.

And then there was the year our father bought my sister and I plaid wool pantsuits that we were expected to actually wear! I don't remember what color my sister's was but mine was orange and pink. Plaid.

After the tree had been ravaged we had steak, eggs, and sweet rolls for breakfast and then we kids spent the rest of the day playing inside or out with our new stuff.

And that was how it went, growing up pre-pubescent. Christmas was fun and exciting and happy and then somewhere around the time I hit puberty, things changed. Our parents had been part of a large social group that went out ballroom dancing and gave parties and then one year my best friend's father got caught cheating and he named my mother, though she denied it, as the other woman and my parents were ostracized. Everything changed after that. We continued to go through the motions but there was always tension in the house and by the time I was an older teen Christmas Eve was an evening to be got through instead of enjoyed and Christmas morning always ended with my mother heaving big sighs and going to bed with a headache.




20 comments:

  1. Tradition is always nice to relive. Nice to see any blooms outside of the supermarket case

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  2. Ellen- what a beautifully written story and it says a lot about why you do not choose to celebrate Christmas. I seem to remember that my mother always ended up in the ER at Christmas, usually with sinus problems and that was so scary for me and definitely cast a pall on the celebrations. And there were other things, too, that interfered with any true, deep enjoyment. And then we grow up and we can decide how or if to celebrate and that is a good thing. Your roses are beautiful. I think that perhaps you and I have the same red variety. I hope your day was a peaceful one, sweet and lazy.
    Also? Your father should not have been allowed in a woman's garment shop. Ever.

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    1. When I was young, he would go to the dep't store and bring home 3 or 4 dresses for Mother to try on and select from (back when stores would allow you take clothes home for approval). my sister says Mother wasn't all too happy about that but my dad loved to shop and pick things out for us.

      There's so much more to my transition away from christmas.

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  3. I'm so glad you told that story. It was so beautifully told, evocative and a peek into another world. It seems nostalgia for past Christmas's comes sweet and bitter for most of us.

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    1. Christmas is really just for the young and those adults with young children. adulthood brings completely different perspectives.

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  4. According to Freud, we are all a product of our childhood. I believe we are “because of” or “in spite of.” You seem to be doing just fine.

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    1. I'm not a big fan of Freud but yeah, because of or in spite of, wither works.

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  5. Thanks for the glimpse into your past. I do think that where we find ourselves today can be explained by the experiences we have encountered along the way. What we believe and why is certainly influenced by the unique road we have walked. You do an excellent job of letting the world know who you are. A good person who cares about this world we share. Much appreciation here.

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    1. thanks Rose. it was a much longer story than what I've written here.

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  6. Mine was yellow and brown - plaid slacks, yellow sweater, and long plaid skirt.

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  7. That was some review of your Christmas. We are all part of our history and that is what makes us.

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    1. there's much more history to my transition away from christmas.

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  8. Please tell me you wore that pantsuit and you have a photo of yourself in it. (And if so, please post!)

    I enjoyed hearing about your childhood Christmases and the eventual demise of the fairy-tale myth that all of us grow up with. I wonder how much of the tension in the house when you were a teen actually stemmed from your own maturity, and the fact that you began seeing into the hidden world of adulthood? Even without the situation within your parents' social circle, Christmas may have seemed more rote for you at that age.

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    1. if one exists, my sister probably has it. the change in our house was more than me just getting older. my father became angry all the time, my mother depressed and slept all the time, I was no longer allowed to have friends unless they were in the right social strata, they became obsessed with maintaining or regaining a certain image. as it affected christmas dinner, Mother became maudlin and would clamp down on any spirited conversation or disagreement because she wouldn't have 'yelling' on Christmas Eve. apparently we were just supposed to be all fake gooey lovey dovey.

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  9. Thank you for writing that. You write so well. If it's not too intrusive, in what part of the country did you grow up? My dad was in the FBI, we moved a lot.

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    1. born and raised and lived my whole life in Houston TX (except for two years away at college) up until 2014 when we sold our house and moved to a small town about an hour away (nearly half that was getting out of the city from where our old house was). we live in a small neighborhood on the outskirts of town but too far out for municiple services. agriculture and ranching.

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  10. Man, I can't decide if that pantsuit is the most fabulous thing ever, or should be condemned for all eternity. It's one or the other.

    Christmas is just so fraught. After my mother died I would probably have gladly just ditched the whole thing, but the other members of my family are having none of it (including Mike, who is as cynical as you are, and yet loves it. Super conflicted - makes for some fun times!).

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  11. Thanks for sharing a painful memory. I'm sorry things turned rough for your family in puberty. :: hugs ::

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  12. I just read another one of these articles about the xmas dangers of too much family being too close together with that driven sense of purpose to be all happy etc.

    We don't do xmas either, here in Germany it is less fun and games but more churchy and holy and the rituals are not necessarily family traditions. No way.

    My Irish in laws just had fun, lots of friends and drinks and too much food and songs and silly games with paper hats. My parents almost shrivelled up with disgust when they came one year. My father called it "Disney".

    I'd love to recreate that but without the people who are all dead now you can't. Instead, we meet with friends after solstice and light a big bonfire and get slightly drunk.

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    1. what you do now sounds like something I would show up for.

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I opened my big mouth, now it's your turn.