The Holidays were always a hectic time around our house while growing up and we knew when the season was upon us. Mom and Dad would put out the Sears and Montgomery Wards catalogs and we would fight over them. Each one of us kids folding down the corners of pages, circling items and putting our name next to them. We knew that only one or two of them would materialize on Christmas Eve, but that never stopped us from dreaming big.
After the selections were over, which never took long, the catalogs would disappear and the worry and work of preparation began. There was the cleaning and the decorating, which always seemed to go hand in hand. Then there was the shopping and more shopping. With eight siblings and parents to buy for, it was a chore that never seemed to end. Let alone the budget to consider and refigure, even when I was eight. Yet, somehow we all survived the long hours going from store to store and the money lasted long enough to buy the final gift for the last person on the list.
Wrapping all of this was another dilemma unto itself. Each of us would take turns going into Mom and Dad’s bedroom after bringing forth their hidden stash of presents to be wrapped. The area under the tree began to fill up quickly and it was an unpleasant predicament to be caught looking through the gifts piled there. I did have one sister that was masterful at finding her gifts, shaking, poking and prodding them without ever getting noticed. She would always announce, ‘I know what you got me for Christmas!’
Taking the time to carol in the neighborhood and prepare cards to be put in the papers we delivered on Christmas Day was all a part of the preparations. Mom would bake cookies and make candies for neighbors and friends. Yet, there seemed to be a natural flow to all of this, a sort of dance leading to the crescendo of the holiday.
On Christmas Eve, we would get bundled up and fill the station wagon to go to my Uncle Bob’s house. Of course, Dad would be delayed as all of us kids waited patiently in the car for him. When he finally arrived we were off, looking for Santa and his sleigh along the way.
It never failed that Santa would visit us at Uncle Bob’s with gifts and goodies. We would ask him if he had stopped at our house yet. He would always ask where we lived as he looked at our Dad as we shouted out our address. Then he would pull a paper from his pocket and announce that he had indeed been to our home.
The excitement was too much, even though I loved spending time with my Uncle and the neat gifts he would give, we had to go home. And after a bit, that is just what we did, arriving home to find a pile of gifts that seemed to fill the entire room. With wide eyed wonder, we would find a spot to tear into the items that were handed to us.
Looking back, I’m still amazed at the magic of it all. Yet, now I can see with appreciation, the lengths others went to to keep the magic of our holiday alive. These efforts became the traditions my family had and I’ve come to cherish in my memories. Today, my wife and I have created traditions for our daughter to cherish in years to come.
Whether you celebrate the return of the Son, the return of the Sun, the seven days in which the oil burned or another structured time of celebration, remember it’s the intimate traditions and sharing with those we love that are most treasured through time.
Oh, and when you look through the catalog of life……..remember to Dream Big!
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