Today we’re sharing a special holiday (any holiday) memory.
Deb: I have so many wonderful memories of Christmases past, but I will focus on one from Christmases long past. When I was a kid, I would sleep like a doornail, except on Christmas Eve, which I am sure was the case with many of us. I would wake up somewhere in the middle of the night and see my stocking laying at the bottom of my bed, gleaming and teaming with delights! When I still believed in the literal Santa I would be too afraid to move, lest he hear me from the living room, thus ruining my whole family’s Christmas. But when I entered the believing years that did not include Santa, I would wake up and gingerly open my stocking, piece by piece, chocolate by chocolate and thrill in each thing. I would then put them all back exactly how I found them and fall asleep with visions of my very own sugarplums dancing in my head. When I woke up, the family gathered around to watch my brother and I open our stockings. I would ooooh and ahhhhh at every single thing. My Mom (one of the great stocking stuffers of all time!) didn’t suspect a thing. Never have my acting skills come in so handy.
Barbara: I also have many special memories from Christmases recent and long ago, but the one memory that popped into my mind when we decided to write this comes from an Easter celebration when I was 7 or 8. My father was king of the magical set-ups and, for some reason, Easter was his specialty. I think because we always hid upstairs in one of our bedrooms while Santa did his thing on Christmas Eve (we celebrated—and continue to celebrate—on Christmas Eve), there was no chance to change up the surprises. In other words, we hid, Santa came, bells were rung, we’d come downstairs and we’d be surprised and delighted by the bedazzled tree and the gifts flowing from underneath (don’t get me wrong, it was GREAT). But every Easter egg hunt had to be different. Sometimes we celebrated at home, sometimes on a hike in the woods, sometimes in a park, sometimes in our backyard, sometimes it would be warm spring, sometimes still cold winter. But the bunny always managed to hide its treasures without us knowing and we’d always stumble upon them as if my father had nothing to do with it (I should also give kudos to my mother for diverting our attention!). But that one year when I was 7 or 8, it was cold and snowy out and we were all hiding in our kitchen so the bunny could go about its humble work in the living room. I was at an age when I might have been suspecting my parents had something to do with the holiday magic. Certainly I was on high-alert, paying close attention. Now, all the magic visitors to our house always announced that it was safe to come out and revel by ringing a bell of some kind. Well, on that day, while every single member of the family waited in the kitchen, that magic bell rung—all on its own—from faraway in the living room. The Easter bunny had come with no adult interference! That moment of impossible possibility never left me, and co-opted me a few more years of devoted belief.
(Years later, when I was an adult, I asked my father how he did it. He gave an innocent shrug. But I worked out that there might have been a fishing line rigged to the bell.)
Any significant memory of a holiday in your life?