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?
