To some, I suppose, I am an old woman. My hair is white, my gait is a bit more cautious and lines criss cross my face like an often folded map. I understand now, as the years come more swiftly, that my outward appearance doesn't begin to reflect how I feel inside. I don't mind this newest version of myself. I've slipped into my mid sixties like a favorite comfy sweater on a winter day - my many years of triumphs and regrets woven together into a lovely jumble of memories. The funny thing is, though, as anyone my age can attest, on the inside, the essence of who I am feels like the same person I was at 40, at 20, at 10.
There's no time during the year that I feel this more keenly than I do at Christmastime. As I decorate my house and sing along to carols on Pandora, I always find myself thinking back to Christmases past. Of all the chapters of my life, each Christmas has added patina to my memory bank. Somehow, though, I always find myself yearning for the Christmases of my childhood most often.
In my family, Christmas Eve was the big celebration, always held at my aunt and uncle's home in La Grange Park. Our dove gray Ford would be bursting with gaily wrapped gifts as we made our way from our home to theirs. In those days, people still dressed up, even for get togethers with family. I can picture my dad holding my hand as he led me to the car, looking handsome in his shirt and tie, overcoat and hat. My mom always looked so festive with a red or green dress, high heels and jangly bell earrings. My sister and I would have new Christmas dresses along with patent leather shoes and frilly socks.
As we pulled out of the driveway to start the trip to their house, the car was still chilly - the heater had not quite warmed up the backseat. Kim and I shivered, both from the cold and with the delicious anticipation of what we knew was going to be a wonderful night. Nat King Cole or Perry Como's voice would fill the car with familiar carols as I pressed my nose against the window watching the familiar landmarks pass, each one bringing us closer and closer to our destination.
And then... we were there! A flurry of excitement as we walked up the stairs to their front door, our parents arms laden with the beautiful gifts. A rush of warm air as my uncle opened the front door to welcome us in. I can still hear his voice calling "Merry Christmas" and see him in his red cardigan sweater, smelling of pipe tobacco and love. The tree would dominate the living room, bedecked in lights, ornaments and tinsel, with an ocean of presents that grew larger and larger as each family member arrived. My aunt, popping out momentarily from the kitchen, wore a frilly apron decorated with sprigs of holly. My mom would disappear into the kitchen to help the other adult females with dinner preparations and my sister and I would spend time with our cousins and the men would talk, while favorite Christmas records played on the hi-fi.
We had to eat dinner first, before opening gifts, which seemed a bit like torture as a child. It was our custom to have spaghetti for dinner each Christmas Eve. I asked my mother how that tradition started, years later, wondering what the significance was. In my mind, I thought it had probably begun in the Depression when budgets were tight and just continued on, but no, she said. It was always spaghetti because it was easy to serve, especially to a big crowd, and the children all liked it.
After dinner, the dishes had to be done before presents! My cousins, sister and I waited patiently, hearing the adults in the kitchen talking and laughing together as they washed and towel dried the plates and silver. It seemed to take forever, but in some ways I didn't really mind. The enormous pile of gifts was full of possibilities. There were no gift bags then - everything was wrapped beautifully in gorgeous paper, ribbon and poufy bows. Those moments - awaiting the arrival of all of the grown ups from the kitchen into the living room were filled with heady emotions. It wasn't just about hoping for a certain gift - though there was some of that - but more about the warm, secure feeling of being in what felt like the best place on earth at that particular moment in time. The sounds of laughter, the voices of people who I loved and who loved me, the scent of evergreen and the colors of the Christmas season everywhere. It was so magical to me. So perfect.
Opening the gifts was loud and chaotic with paper and ribbon everywhere. It's funny, I don't remember particular gifts I may have received as being highlights of those Christmas Eves so long ago.
Soon it was time to get ready to go home. After all, Santa was making his rounds and we knew that if we weren't home in bed, fast asleep, he might pass our house by completely. Kim and I changed into our pajamas - the flannel footed ones that would keep us toasty warm on the car ride home. My dad repacked the car with opened gifts and finally, after hugs and kisses from my aunts, uncles and cousins, we began our ride home.
Drowsy but excited, I looked out the window at all of the beautiful lights and decorations of the homes as we passed them on our way. One year, as I was on the cusp of not believing in Santa Claus anymore, we passed a house where I saw someone dressed in a Santa suit carrying a large bag as he approached the front door. I panicked - what if we didn't get home in time? What if he had already gone to Tinley Park and we weren't home in bed? My parents tried to reassure me that Santa would still come to our house, but I think I didn't fully believe it until I saw the presents under the tree on Christmas morning.
By the time we got home, Kim and I had fallen asleep in the backseat, so my dad carried us into the house and upstairs to our beds where our mom tucked us in. Christmas day was just a few hours away and it too, would be filled with tradition of church, pancakes, Santa gifts and more family visits. It was so easy to slip into that lovely child's slumber - carefree, filled with happiness and anticipation.
Through the years I have made lovely Christmas memories in the years when my children were small and now, with my precious grandchildren. Each Christmas brings a new layer of joy and thankfulness for the birth of Our Lord which, in turn, allows us to celebrate Him with those we love.
Those childhood Christmases, though, were the gold standard for me. As the radio stations begin playing carols and the decorations go up, I always think back to those Christmas Eves of my childhood and how they made me feel. I often wish, just once, I could go back in time and be the little girl in the backseat of the car, nose pressed against the window, instead of being one of the adults up front. Of course I can only be that little girl in my mind, and only for a moment or two. After all, I have to make the spaghetti sauce and finish wrapping the gifts.
