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Christmas Discoveries By Nancy Staczek Email: Colliepaws at toast dot net (above email address formatted to reduce spam) December 18, 2007 Growing up in Northwest Ohio in the 1950s left me with memories of snowy Christmases, icy Christmases, and rain soaked muddy Christmases. There were never any genuine 'white' Christmases since nearly all the houses in our neighborhood as well as the nearby glass factory used coal. The snow always had a gray gritty character. It was a substantial 'packing' snow but not the kind of snow that inspired songs of winter wonderlands. While the month of December would arrive a bit dingy and gray, one thing my little sister and I had come to look forward to was the amazing Christmas tree that bloomed with lights in the far corner of the living room on Christmas morning. The tree was wedged into that particular corner to protect it from the hissing, growling threats of the old steam radiator that ruled the living room with its iron presence. The tree would be hung heavy with tinsel, large brightly colored lights and shimmering ornaments of egg-shell glass nestled among chains of construction paper garland and soap flake frosted pine cones. It was Dad who would stop at the tree lot on his way home from working second shift on Christmas Eve. He would carry home the give-a-way tree and after we were asleep he would spend his night hauling boxes from the attic, untangling strings of lights, battling the unsteady tree stand all just to give me and my little sister the magic of discovery on Christmas morning. It wan't that Mom was anti-Christmas. She was the oldest daughter in a family of ten kids and grew up during "the depression." She considered Christmas trees a bother and her only contribution to holiday decorating would be the worn sheet spread beneath the tree to catch the avalanche of needles. My sister and I would always have two presents each to open on Christmas morning - one practical gift usually flannel pjs or underwear. The practical gift was always left in a store bag with price tags attached - but the other gift was wrapped with layers of newspaper and secured with a knot of red ribbon. The second gift was always something frivolous, a doll, a book, a game - something that was truly a wonderful surprise for my sister and me to oooh and ahh over. Christmas of 1960 was our first Christmas without Dad. He had died suddenly that spring and our family was stretching pennies to keep the coal bin full and the wolf from our door. At the grown up age of eleven, I knew there would be no tree or presents for us that Christmas. When I came home from school the Friday that signaled the start of Christmas vacation, I found a book bag waiting for me on the kitchen table. Book bags, back then, were canvas satchels with flaps secured with buckles, plastic hand grip for carrying and on the deluxe models detachable straps for converting it into a shoulder bag. (In that long ago era - backpacks were used only by boy scouts and soliders.) That school year I had been carrying my old navy blue bag with a loop of clothesline for a handle having had no luck trying to repair the broken hand grip with electrical tape. While there was no price tags on this bag - it was a bit scuffed - definitely a previously owned bag. Still, it was a real treasure - a red plaid deluxe model with genuine leather trim. On the table, next to my bag, was a soft pile of crochet pink yarn - a bonnet, sweater and booties for my little sister's doll. The small pearl buttons looked familiar and upon examining the doll clothes I realized that Mom had reworked a layette set that had once been used for her own baby girls down to a Tiny Tears doll size replica. Mom would not be home until nearly 7 p.m. She was not there to hear our ooohs and ahhs of discovery that Friday afternoon before Christmas. Mom had found a job in town working as a cleaning lady for a well to do family. Her route home involved two bus transfers with a cold snowy wait between rides. She would be tired and hungry when she got home and I had chores to do and dinner to prepare. When my sister and I approached Mom later that evening to thank her for the gifts her only reply was "I knew you needed them." There was no Christmas tree that year - nor for several years thereafter. Dad's Christmas decorations were stored in the attic waiting for better days. We did have brighter Christmases in the years to come but the one Christmas I remember best was my Christmas of discovery in 1960. About the author: I am very curious and enjoy learning a little about a lot of things, people and places. I work at a local animal hospital and often find my work coming home with me much to the delight of my myopic collie dog. I also have a collection of friends and family that never cease to surprise and mystify me. | | | |
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