Was it the best Christmas ever? Or was it one of the worst years ever? That's my dilemma as I write this. It's important to me that I am honest in my telling of tales, that I always tell the truth, and that I am transparent. However, sometimes things are better left unsaid — at least for now. So, which part of this story shall I tell? The good or the bad? The happy or the sad? And how do I share it without being disrespectful and hurtful? How do I tell the tale?
I think that it is apparent in my writings thus far that, as a child, I have moved around a lot. I went to many schools, and I lived in several cities. It's hard for me to talk about the emotional toll it took on me, especially at this time of year. I have harbored some deep-rooted emotions. But there was one year that stands out to me. There was one year that, although it holds some bad memories, Christmas time was a good memory. At least from this child's vantage point.
I was 9 that year. My father's business was going well, and he was making very good money. Everyone seemed happy — the money flowed freely. And by that I mean — we made a haul at Christmas. The house we lived in that year was designed by my father. It was a 4-bedroom, 2 1/2 bath, large California ranch-style home. It was in a great neighborhood, with good schools and nice kids. Interesting side note — while I was at this particular elementary school in 4th grade, my future husband was attending the same school that year in 5th grade. We still laugh about that one--who knew that many years later...
I remember that Christmas morning, my sisters and I (yes, my oldest sister, my half-sister were living with us that year) came out of our bedrooms, and there in the family room were more presents than I had ever seen in my short life. We had 2 loveseats that flanked the huge fireplace, and from the end of one sofa, cascading across the hearth and onto the other sofa, were piles of gifts. And they were ours--just ours.
We tore into those presents like they were scraps of food for a starving dog! I remember what I got, too — most of it, anyway. The headliners were--a Barbie Dream House, a transistor radio, and a Chatty Cathy Doll. What a day! I also remember my mother's embarrassed face as my father went outside and proceeded to unload the trunk of his car with gifts for her. She cried. I do remember that. He had bought her so many presents that even at 9 years of age, it had an impact on me. I guess he was making up for lost time!
Yes, it was a Christmas to remember. Many of our extended family members came over that afternoon for dinner. We ate our food, had our snacks, ate our pies, and then played with our toys, all in front of a huge, beautifully decorated 9-foot Christmas tree. Yes, I remember that year. That one day made an impression on me. It was wonderful.
I guess for me, as a child at Christmas time, it wasn't just all about the gifts. Yes, that was a huge part of it, too. However, for me, it was more about the feeling of warmth and safety. I liked being surrounded by family. Everyone was there, everyone was smiling, everyone seemed happy. At that moment in time, on that particular day, I felt safe. It was as it should have been. It was Christmas Day. And maybe, just maybe, I knew that I had to savor that day because it was going to have to last me for many years to come.
I was an intuitive little kid. I know that now--all these years later. I knew then to stop and to look around. To take mental pictures and hold on to them for the future--my future. I knew I would need them. Because sometimes you can symbolically take a good picture and lay it over a bad picture, and then everything doesn't seem so inadequate or sad. I realized after I had become an adult that I had overcome, grown up, and survived. And, that I could make my own Christmas memories--my future memories. Those memories could become whatever I wanted them to be. It was my future after all. Because it isn't really about the gifts now, is it? You see, I would have traded all those gifts for something else all those many years ago. But that's another story for later.
For now — Merry Christmas — go make some memories. And remember, memories are never, ever forgotten.
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