Today I'm going to make an effort to retell a Christmas memory from my childhood. As I've told you in my profile description, writing is not what I do. Bear with me as a make an effort to tell a story and not make it sound as if Jack Webb forced it out of me. :)
It was Christmas Eve in single family brick ranch style house in a southwestern suburb of Chicago, IL. Christmas Eve was sort of a big deal in our family once we children grew old enough to stay up past 8:00 p.m. and interact with the adults in a polite and fairly interesting way. In other words, the adults enjoyed our company and we no longer felt the need to be the center of attention in the room. My mother would host a Christmas Eve cocktail party for our family and any neighbors lucky enough to be invited. The party began when we returned home from our Christmas Eve church service. This particular year I was 15 years old. This would have made my younger twin brothers just ready to turn 14 on December 26th and my youngest brother on the brink of being 10 years old on December 27th. Yep, Christmastime was a pretty festive time at my house. We had Christmas dinner on Christmas Day. Then TWO birthday cakes on December 26th. Then ANOTHER birthday cake on December 27th. There was no way anyone was going to be avoiding the Christmas calories at my house. I digress.
On Christmas Eve my mother would host a Christmas Eve cocktail party with heavy hors d'oeuvres and cocktails. Even though cocktails were not on the menu for my brothers and me, we were served our soft drinks in cocktail glasses and allowed to feel very grown up. My mother was a creature of habit. We had spicy sausage meatballs in sweet and tangy sauce, little mini pizzas on party rye toast, pigs in blankets, candy cane cookies, cheese straws, and more. It was a 1960's cocktail party in 1972. It was perfect. My mom worked all day to get ready for this holiday event. I'm sure she even let me help her prepare, but I don't remember for sure.
We dressed in our Christmas finest for church back in those days. My dress was a black bodice with red skirting. I believe, the bodice was some type of polyester velvet. I'm sure I looked beautiful. At 15 I considered myself an adult, although no one else in my family did. Off to church we went. It was a happy time. I remember, it began to snow as we returned home from church. It was so exciting. Christmas Eve, a party, snow... what more could be wished for.
As we tumble out of the Country Squire Ford station wagon and walked up the small stairway into the family room of our home. Low and behold, there in our tiny family room, next to the fireplace, kneeling at the base of our Christmas tree, was SANTA! Seriously, SANTA!
Now, I didn't believe in Santa anymore, did I? I mean, I was 15 years old. Of course, I wasn't sure if my little brothers believed, so I wasn't going to say anything to burst their bubbles. But, if there was no Santa, who was in my family room? I mean, I was giving this guy a hard look up and down. Anyway, it all happened so fast. We walked into the room, Santa stood up quickly, he wished us a Merry Christmas and scooted out the door as quick as you can say, "Bob's your uncle" and was gone. It was magical. We saw the footprints in the ashes in the fireplace. There were cookie crumbs and half a glass of milk on the counter. And then the doorbell rang and the neighbors began to trickle in for the party. I was still wide eyed with a combination of disbelief and wonder at the events that had just occurred before my very eyes. My brothers were feeling the same thing. But, who was that bearded man? We couldn't figure it out. This was my most memorable Christmas. And it happened to me long after the magic of Christmas has left most homes. I love my mom and dad for plotting and planning this wonderful Christmas experience for my brothers and me. Such love. So magical. It was such a Merry Christmas.
It was Christmas Eve in single family brick ranch style house in a southwestern suburb of Chicago, IL. Christmas Eve was sort of a big deal in our family once we children grew old enough to stay up past 8:00 p.m. and interact with the adults in a polite and fairly interesting way. In other words, the adults enjoyed our company and we no longer felt the need to be the center of attention in the room. My mother would host a Christmas Eve cocktail party for our family and any neighbors lucky enough to be invited. The party began when we returned home from our Christmas Eve church service. This particular year I was 15 years old. This would have made my younger twin brothers just ready to turn 14 on December 26th and my youngest brother on the brink of being 10 years old on December 27th. Yep, Christmastime was a pretty festive time at my house. We had Christmas dinner on Christmas Day. Then TWO birthday cakes on December 26th. Then ANOTHER birthday cake on December 27th. There was no way anyone was going to be avoiding the Christmas calories at my house. I digress.
On Christmas Eve my mother would host a Christmas Eve cocktail party with heavy hors d'oeuvres and cocktails. Even though cocktails were not on the menu for my brothers and me, we were served our soft drinks in cocktail glasses and allowed to feel very grown up. My mother was a creature of habit. We had spicy sausage meatballs in sweet and tangy sauce, little mini pizzas on party rye toast, pigs in blankets, candy cane cookies, cheese straws, and more. It was a 1960's cocktail party in 1972. It was perfect. My mom worked all day to get ready for this holiday event. I'm sure she even let me help her prepare, but I don't remember for sure.
We dressed in our Christmas finest for church back in those days. My dress was a black bodice with red skirting. I believe, the bodice was some type of polyester velvet. I'm sure I looked beautiful. At 15 I considered myself an adult, although no one else in my family did. Off to church we went. It was a happy time. I remember, it began to snow as we returned home from church. It was so exciting. Christmas Eve, a party, snow... what more could be wished for.
As we tumble out of the Country Squire Ford station wagon and walked up the small stairway into the family room of our home. Low and behold, there in our tiny family room, next to the fireplace, kneeling at the base of our Christmas tree, was SANTA! Seriously, SANTA!
Now, I didn't believe in Santa anymore, did I? I mean, I was 15 years old. Of course, I wasn't sure if my little brothers believed, so I wasn't going to say anything to burst their bubbles. But, if there was no Santa, who was in my family room? I mean, I was giving this guy a hard look up and down. Anyway, it all happened so fast. We walked into the room, Santa stood up quickly, he wished us a Merry Christmas and scooted out the door as quick as you can say, "Bob's your uncle" and was gone. It was magical. We saw the footprints in the ashes in the fireplace. There were cookie crumbs and half a glass of milk on the counter. And then the doorbell rang and the neighbors began to trickle in for the party. I was still wide eyed with a combination of disbelief and wonder at the events that had just occurred before my very eyes. My brothers were feeling the same thing. But, who was that bearded man? We couldn't figure it out. This was my most memorable Christmas. And it happened to me long after the magic of Christmas has left most homes. I love my mom and dad for plotting and planning this wonderful Christmas experience for my brothers and me. Such love. So magical. It was such a Merry Christmas.
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That's so cool that they did that. Or maybe it really was Santa.
ReplyDeletethat is so awesome...i totally want to do that to my boys.......what cool parents....
ReplyDeletelove it! What fun parents you have.
ReplyDeleteI admire when people can come up with ideas like that! I'm sure that took a lot of planning. Excellent! Did you ever talk to your parents about that?
ReplyDeleteFor a moment, I was afraid that you were going to reveal that Santa was burglarizing your home!
ReplyDeleteGreat story!
A burgling Santa would have made a whole different Christmas memory. :)
ReplyDeleteI talked to my mom after I read your comment. I don't think she remembers the evening very well. I'm sad I didn't talk to her about it sooner. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks. Yes, moms are the best. :)
ReplyDeleteI know you will think of something clever. :)
ReplyDeleteHmmm... maybe.
ReplyDeleteNo! don't be sad! I think it was perfect! It was magical!
ReplyDeleteThat was magical. How wonderful that you have that memory.
ReplyDelete