Christmas Memories: Childhood

My memories of Christmas in my childhood are all positive. This is amazing. I grew up during the Great Depression and my family had very limited financial resources. I am one of nine children and so there must have been illnesses. Early on I believed in Santa Claus and so some disappointment must have accompanied that. But all of those negatives have been erased.

The anticipation of Christmas still stirs my heart. On December 10 we were allowed to “hang stockings”. And we did. They were those long ugly woolen grey things we hated to wear. But always on December 10 (my birthday) there would be something in that stocking; maybe an orange or a pencil. It was great discovering them.

We had a German song we sang counting off the days. The literal translation of the title is “Tomorrow Something Will Happen”. The key line (which rhymed in German) was “Once more must we awake; then it will be Christmas Day”. We changed the words to, for example, “ten more days must we awake” and we counted down the days.

About two weeks before Christmas I had to leave my precious (and usually rusted and in poor state of repair) little tricycle out over night. During the night the birds would come and whisk away my trike. It was taken to Santa who happened to be my Uncle Walter who ran a blacksmith shop that doubled as Santa’s workroom where trikes got repairs and repainted, always in red!

I attended a Lutheran parochial school and we were responsible for the Christmas Eve Church Service. It was as far from today’s Disney-like productions one finds in many churches. It was utterly simple and maybe simplistic. No costumes, magi gifts or manger scenes. The teacher would ask a question e.g. “Which high feast are we celebrating in these days?” The answers were all assigned ahead of time. And the previously designated student would be called up to give the answer “The high festival of the birth of the Christ Child” and thus the Christmas Eve catechism went on for about 75 questions and answers. In between, some of the students would march to the front of the church and recite a little poem. This was followed by the entire classroom singing a traditional Christmas carol. (Throughout my eight years of elementary school this program was always conducted in German.)

It was tough to keep our focus on our assignments. Distractions were everywhere: We were wearing our new Christmas clothes, carefully sewn by our mother. To our left stood a massive cedar Christmas tree. In the early years an usher was positioned nearby with a wet rag on the end of a stick to douse any flames that might erupt dangerously from all the wax candles which lit the entire tree. And our eyes could simply not be diverted from glancing at what was piled under the tree. Under that big tree were arranged piles of plain brown grocery bags, one for each child! The bags held dreamed-for treasures: a fresh orange; several walnuts, some loose peppermint-like Christmas candies, and chewing gum (if it was a bit better year there might be a full package of Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit gum in each bag. In leaner years there was only one stick.) We pondered for days as to just when we would chew that rare gum.

The Christmas Eve Service was always early enough to allow families to go home, open their gifts, enjoy them, and return for early worship services on Christmas Day. At my home everything was according to ritual. For days we had not been allowed into my dad’s study where Santa would decorate the tree and bring gifts. When it was time to enter we lined up outside the door, eventually all nine of us kids, always by age, from the youngest to the eldest. The tree was full of fake icicles, homemade decorations and lights. The gifts were opened in reverse birth order and for at least 3 consecutive years Santa had brought me my incomparable trike all decked out in new paint.

Christmas Eve celebration continued at my Grandmother’s house. I have no memory of any gifts being involved. I do remember the food, fresh pork sausage and ham, homemade candy and cookies everywhere, freshly made eggnog with gallons of whipping cream, in enormous punch bowls (duly spiked with bourbon.) To the side was a smaller bowl without the alcohol for some delicate women and little children - and to the best of my memory no one ever monitored who drank from which bowl.

Then came a Christmas tradition apparently unique to Texas, the fireworks. We shot firecrackers, and rockets, roman candles and sparklers. Once a group of cousins of mine got very brave. They “borrowed “ a couple of massive anvils from local blacksmith shops. Filled a cavity in one of them with powder extracted from other fireworks, placed a fuse appropriately, positioned one anvil on top of the other, lit the fuse and produced the loudest Christmas Eve blast ever acknowledged in all of Williamson County, Texas.

Finally home to bed so we could get up very shortly to head for Christmas Day Worship services - and for the special dinner to follow!