Ho Ho Ho
Maybe you and your family don’t celebrate Christmas. As for me, it exists as part of my faith and upbringing. Nowadays though, Christmas isn’t the spectacular event, which it used to be when I was a young handsome lad growing up. I’m older now, although I’ll not tell you how old, because it gags me to no end when I’m forced to face the realization that my youth disappeared long ago with my dark hair. Nonetheless, I still have those handsome features that Mother Nature saw fit to bless me with. So apparently, not all is lost to the realm of time.
Anyway, yesteryear saw end to a period in time when my siblings and I gathered around the Christmas tree at my grandparent’s house, breathlessly awaiting the sharing of gifts. As for myself, not being unlike millions of other youngsters around the world, I wanted my share right now. Pronto! I could dang well care less about anymore ho, ho, ho, Happy Holidays malarkey at this moment. It was finally Christmas morning, and I had endured endless hours anticipating this joyous day’s arrival. Visions of cowboy guns and Tonka trucks had continuously danced inside my head for weeks, and today was the day of reckoning.
During my childhood toys were few and far between. Unlike today’s children, my generation wasn’t inundated with an endless array of gizmos and noisemakers to entertain themselves with. Money was scarce. We had to make do with whatever was at hand. Most children considered themselves mighty fortunate if they had a broke stick and a rock to play with. We certainly didn’t have access to computer games, or fancy electronic toys that could emulate the actions that children used to do themselves. I’ve seen some toys of today that can run, jump, and make squalling sounds while doing flip-flops just like my brother used to do when he zipped his trousers’ zipper up too fast. Surely goodness knows that such a toy would certainly be more entertaining than a broke stick, and rock, but when I think back about it, watching my brother doing a jig about the room was also a lot more entertaining than watching a toy doing it.
Anyway, I think I got sidetracked. So back to the anticipation of opening Christmas gifts.
Good Grief! Apparently my plans of ripping reindeer adorned wrapping paper to shreds have been thwarted by a family tradition from Christmases past. My dear grandparents, and beloved mother were steadfast in keeping with trend and notion that all children, including yours’ truly, should be served, and made to eat a hearty breakfast on Christmas morning before any gifts were opened. In other words, no gifts until everyone finished breakfast, including grownups. My dream world of cowboy guns, and Tonka trucks would have to wait……
and the wait was always seemingly endless…..
Having woofed down our breakfast, all the children were once again gathered around the Christmas tree. No longer were our distorted reflections in the tree’s dangling globes amusing. There were no more silly grimaces and smiles staring back at us from the mirrored surfaces. All the humor was gone from our young faces. The floor, our clothes, and surrounding gifts were soaked with drool, and breakfast gravy. We were now in the throngs of rabid suffering. No death could be more grueling in comparison to the torture now being endured by us children.
Continuing to sit nonchalantly at the breakfast table, were the grownups, totally oblivious to us mouth-frothing children. Having finished eating breakfast, they were now leisurely sipping their morning coffee, while us children wiggled and squirmed in the glow of the Christmas tree.
Sitting there, the minutes lingered into eternity. In unison, each of our minds screamed the same question repeatedly, “ How was it possible for anyone to sip on a cup of coffee from winter until spring thaw?” The coffee cups were surly bottomless. Not even a washtub could hold that much coffee…
A welling of tears could be felt rising inside me, because I knew I’d never get to open a gift upon this day. Apparently, all was lost to a cup of coffee.
Then my mind sighed in misery.
“Oh please Santa, make them finish!”
“I am dying!” Arrrgh.
Then came a sound likened to the singing of angels. A heard scooting of kitchen chairs reverberated throughout the house as the coffee-sipping trio pushed away from the table. Breakfast was officially over now. The time for opening gifts was here!
Wiping away the remnants of drool and gravy from my mouth, my free hand reached out and clutched the first gift handed my way. It was addressed to me from ol’ St. Nicolas himself, Santa Clause.
Without hesitation I ripped away the wrapping paper only to find---but what else? It was a gift box containing underwear. Good Grief! What a dirty trick for Santa to pull on someone.
Then another gift: pants and shirt. Then some socks.
Throughout my childhood years, even though money was tight, I usually received a few of the wonderful gifts that most little boys hoped for at the time. Included were such toys as baseball gloves, basketballs, footballs, baseballs, Tonka toys, Army Guns, and of course, cowboy guns and holsters. Those were the treasured basics.
Many hours were spent chasing outlaws, and fighting enemy soldiers. Ballgames were played with grit, intensity, and sportsmanship. Everyone frowned upon a poor loser.
Even now, as I look back over the years, I can hear the pretend roar of Tonka trucks as they race across the highways I built.
May you have a Merry Christmas:
C.E.Vance
