Celebrating Christmas in my family came naturally as it does in most Christian families. Watching the season explode in our community with the ancient looking illuminated candy canes hanging from the light posts and the fragrant scent of cinnamon potpourri burning in every store. Glittering fake snow rimmed every shop window holding decadent displays of jolly old saint Nicholas hauling a large sack of goodies over roof tops of good little girls and boys.

The night after Thanksgiving always brought the annual town caroling, where we would come together as a city and stand before the giant evergreen in front of the court house with it's tattered ornaments, and sets of flickering lights. Everyone raised their voices to sing the wonderful Christmas carols of old, each person trying to sing louder than the next so as there unique voice could be heard above their neighbors.

My families illustrious lighting display has always challenged that of the Grizwalds. My memories will never fail to amuse me, as I think back to the times when my dad would amble up the icy rungs of his creaky ladder to balance on the slick roof, which he managed to move across with cat like ease, regardless of his earthbound grace. My dad would staple string after string of tiny twinkling bulbs until his idea was brought to life.

Always sitting jauntily atop our roof was the wooden molding sled and reindeer that my grandfather had made before I can even remember. Our entire yard was covered with those glittering bulbs; even our nativity scene had three sets of blue lights which led to our song 'oh little town of Vegas'.

I remember diligently strapping strings of lights to our fence with fingertips half frozen, but determined never the less to get everything up and working before thanksgiving when the lights would be turned on for the first time. My Mom, always the shining star of my life, would never be far off while we were putting up decorations giving us her advice and assistance at every turn.

Almost religiously we watched the Christmas classics, from Charlie brown to clumps of dancing clay that happened to be singing Christmas carols, we watched it all feeling that special spark of holiday cheer jump back into our lives. There was always that wonderful feeling of unwrapping each ornament that held a special memory and meaning. Some ornaments were purchased years and years before I was even old enough to hold a candy cane, and some that I picked out myself. There were ornaments to commemorate the birth of a child, and other mementos that represented a loved one who had died, so that in a way they'd always be home for Christmas. All these activities built up to the glorious day itself, tediously counted down with help from the ancient mouse advent calendar that had been handed down through the generations.

My brother and I were so kind to our parents on Christmas morning. We would always let them sleep in till at least five, before bounding into their room to bounce on the bed until they were thoroughly agitated knowing full well that any delusions of further hours of sleep were just that, delusions. After lighting the fire and taking what seemed a thousand pictures of the tree and mountain of presents, we were finally allowed into the room. We quickly looted our stockings for all the goodies 'Santa' had brought for us before delving into our meticulously rattled, shaken, and otherwise inspected gifts, shredding the paper which took hours to apply. The boxes were left in tatters as we dove into our gifts, quickly giving our thanks to the giver before diving into the next present.

After the excitement of the day had calmed down with all of the relatives gone, we could finally relax. We would settle back on the couch in front of the glittering Christmas tree with Bing Crosby playing softly in the background. Pure happiness is found within these moments. The simple pleasure of being near the ones you love on such a special day. Feeling the first twinge of sorrow that the holiday was almost over, but still clinging on to the joy for as long as possible. All of these things that come together so perfectly, are what Christmas at my house is all about. I will always thank God for giving me such wonderful parents who truly made Christmas the most wonderful time of the year for my brothers and myself.

click here to go back to my main page