Sharing a few Christmas memories
By
Rory Ryan-hcpress@cinci.rr.com
“What are some of your favorite Christmas memories?” was the seasonal
question at a recent gathering.
It was a good question, too. Very timely, in fact.
(And, please, feel free to share your own Christmas memories, as
contributing writer Jim Moore has, by joining the online discussion at
www.highlandcountypress.com.)
Christmas, it’s often been said, is for children. It certainly was for
one Child.
My own childhood memories of Christmas are all good. Sure, our family
had its financial ups and downs through the years. Many years, money was
tight. Looking back, I’m often amazed at how much my parents did for their
four children each Christmas.
Somehow, some way, they made every Christmas special. The magic of
Christmas was always there. From the turkey and dressing (no one makes a
turkey like my mother), to watching seasonal movie classics like “It’s a
Wonderful Life,” “White Christmas,” or the saddest movie ever made, “All
Mine to Give,” to inviting friends who had no close families and nowhere to
go on Christmas, my parents always made Christmas a very, very special time
for us. And how they did it was no minor miracle. I swear, my mother could
stretch a dollar so far it would make Elastic Man envious.
For me, the best memories of Christmas no longer include the traditional
gifts. Naturally, as a child, I was always pleased with any Christmas
present that did not involve clothing. If I opened a neatly wrapped box and
pulled out a sweater or a pair of trousers (nobody calls them “trousers,”
anymore), you can bet I quickly tossed it aside and moved on to another
package. I was never excited about any gifts — unless you could play with
them, ride them, shoot them, toss them or catch them.
One year, I remember getting a baseball glove, a football and a
basketball for Christmas. Pardon the hockey reference, but this was the hat
trick of all hat tricks for me. (My wife, Pam, has always liked hockey, so
she can explain what a hat trick is. Sombrero optional.)
My three sisters seemed to be OK when their gifts involved clothes or
shoes or jewelry. However, I did not share their enthusiasm when a
well-meaning grandmother gave me a sweater one Christmas. It’s been more
than three decades and I still haven’t worn it. However, Grandmother
Kathleen (Katy) made amends on my birthday one year by making a cake to my
exact specifications: 1/2 inch of chocolate cake covered with 3 inches of
chocolate frosting, and a gallon of chocolate ice cream on the side. Wheee,
doggies! That was a birthday cake!
One Christmas, I really wanted a new bike. (I got one.) Another
Christmas, I wanted a pool table. (Got it.) It took some years and a bit of
maturing to realize that Christmas wasn’t always easy, economically, for my
parents. This may not sound quite right, but I think it’s a good thing for
children to understand that money certainly doesn’t grow on trees. Yet,
sadly, way too many children are learning as much this year.
As I’ve grown older, each Christmas I think about a quote that I first
heard in my early 20s. “The saddest face at Christmas is not that of the
child who didn’t get what he or she wanted, it is on the face of the parent
who couldn’t afford it.”
Aside from the gifts, in fact more important than the gifts, my
Christmas memories are of family. Parents, sisters, friends, and other
family members have all contributed to my own favorite Christmas memories.
I remember many of our Christmas trees, too. Rarely, if ever, did we opt
for a plastic tree. No, we went for the real thing. Many times my dad and I
selected a tree that qualified for the “your eyes are bigger than your
stomach” award. (A good rule to follow: If you have a 10-foot ceiling, you
do not need a 12-foot tree.) And then there was the Christmas around 1980 or
‘81, when Larry Taylor and I went “shopping” for a tree at 3 o’clock in the
morning. We found one. Eventually. Stuffed it into the small trunk of
Larry’s Chevy Camaro and brought ‘er back to town.
A few years later, my Christmas memories became less of my childhood and
more of my children’s experiences. Our oldest, Caitlin, born in January, was
almost a year old at her first Christmas. By the time she marked her second
Christmas, she had a baby sister, Meghan. Not too many Christmases later,
they both had a baby brother, Colin, born the day after Christmas in 1994.
(That will always be a special Christmas for more reasons than I can share.
Suffice it to say that Colin’s entrance into this world was another
Christmas miracle.)
We’ve managed to carry on our family Christmas traditions quite well, I
think. All of our children will forever remember the Christmas of 2004. That
was the year of the Ice Storm. The kids still call it the 12 Days of
Christmas because of all the different places they stayed for almost two
weeks, while waiting for our electricity to be reconnected.
Most Christmases my occupation has required that I work. My wife, who
has a real job as an RN, also works most Christmases, either at Highland
District Hospital or at Hospice of Hope. Juggling our respective schedules
isn’t always easy. But we’ve always managed to share the opening of
presents, the exchanging of gifts and the warmth of a few happy, young
faces.
The children are young adults now. They still humor us by getting up
early on Christmas morning and acting surprised when they open their
presents. Some day, they’ll be doing this with their own families and
creating their own special Christmas memories. I’m not altogether OK with
that, but I understand and accept that it is the natural progression in
life.
Aside from the obvious reason – and the important reason – for the
celebration, if there’s one thing that I hope our children will always
remember about Christmas, it’s this: You better thank your mother.
I’m sure they already know this, but I’m not exactly the person you want
to pick out “that special gift.” In fact, I’m not even the person you want
to pick out a not-so-special gift. My acumen for such tasks is about as good
as my knowledge of Chinese calculus. It’s not that I’m Ebenezer Scrooge’s
grandson or anything. I just can’t make a decent decision on an appropriate
gift. Fortunately, their mother is not so afflicted. (And, even more
fortunately, she has a real job!)
As it is with many families in southern Ohio, this won’t be one of
Santa’s bigger years at our house. But that’s OK. We’ll have some fun
exchanging gifts. We’ll enjoy a good Christmas dinner with family. And we
will be truly thankful, thankful for our Saviour’s birth, and thankful for
our blessings of family and friends.
Isn’t that what Christmas is all about?
Rory Ryan is publisher and editor of The Highland County Press.[[In-content Ad]]
question at a recent gathering.
It was a good question, too. Very timely, in fact.
(And, please, feel free to share your own Christmas memories, as
contributing writer Jim Moore has, by joining the online discussion at
www.highlandcountypress.com.)
Christmas, it’s often been said, is for children. It certainly was for
one Child.
My own childhood memories of Christmas are all good. Sure, our family
had its financial ups and downs through the years. Many years, money was
tight. Looking back, I’m often amazed at how much my parents did for their
four children each Christmas.
Somehow, some way, they made every Christmas special. The magic of
Christmas was always there. From the turkey and dressing (no one makes a
turkey like my mother), to watching seasonal movie classics like “It’s a
Wonderful Life,” “White Christmas,” or the saddest movie ever made, “All
Mine to Give,” to inviting friends who had no close families and nowhere to
go on Christmas, my parents always made Christmas a very, very special time
for us. And how they did it was no minor miracle. I swear, my mother could
stretch a dollar so far it would make Elastic Man envious.
For me, the best memories of Christmas no longer include the traditional
gifts. Naturally, as a child, I was always pleased with any Christmas
present that did not involve clothing. If I opened a neatly wrapped box and
pulled out a sweater or a pair of trousers (nobody calls them “trousers,”
anymore), you can bet I quickly tossed it aside and moved on to another
package. I was never excited about any gifts — unless you could play with
them, ride them, shoot them, toss them or catch them.
One year, I remember getting a baseball glove, a football and a
basketball for Christmas. Pardon the hockey reference, but this was the hat
trick of all hat tricks for me. (My wife, Pam, has always liked hockey, so
she can explain what a hat trick is. Sombrero optional.)
My three sisters seemed to be OK when their gifts involved clothes or
shoes or jewelry. However, I did not share their enthusiasm when a
well-meaning grandmother gave me a sweater one Christmas. It’s been more
than three decades and I still haven’t worn it. However, Grandmother
Kathleen (Katy) made amends on my birthday one year by making a cake to my
exact specifications: 1/2 inch of chocolate cake covered with 3 inches of
chocolate frosting, and a gallon of chocolate ice cream on the side. Wheee,
doggies! That was a birthday cake!
One Christmas, I really wanted a new bike. (I got one.) Another
Christmas, I wanted a pool table. (Got it.) It took some years and a bit of
maturing to realize that Christmas wasn’t always easy, economically, for my
parents. This may not sound quite right, but I think it’s a good thing for
children to understand that money certainly doesn’t grow on trees. Yet,
sadly, way too many children are learning as much this year.
As I’ve grown older, each Christmas I think about a quote that I first
heard in my early 20s. “The saddest face at Christmas is not that of the
child who didn’t get what he or she wanted, it is on the face of the parent
who couldn’t afford it.”
Aside from the gifts, in fact more important than the gifts, my
Christmas memories are of family. Parents, sisters, friends, and other
family members have all contributed to my own favorite Christmas memories.
I remember many of our Christmas trees, too. Rarely, if ever, did we opt
for a plastic tree. No, we went for the real thing. Many times my dad and I
selected a tree that qualified for the “your eyes are bigger than your
stomach” award. (A good rule to follow: If you have a 10-foot ceiling, you
do not need a 12-foot tree.) And then there was the Christmas around 1980 or
‘81, when Larry Taylor and I went “shopping” for a tree at 3 o’clock in the
morning. We found one. Eventually. Stuffed it into the small trunk of
Larry’s Chevy Camaro and brought ‘er back to town.
A few years later, my Christmas memories became less of my childhood and
more of my children’s experiences. Our oldest, Caitlin, born in January, was
almost a year old at her first Christmas. By the time she marked her second
Christmas, she had a baby sister, Meghan. Not too many Christmases later,
they both had a baby brother, Colin, born the day after Christmas in 1994.
(That will always be a special Christmas for more reasons than I can share.
Suffice it to say that Colin’s entrance into this world was another
Christmas miracle.)
We’ve managed to carry on our family Christmas traditions quite well, I
think. All of our children will forever remember the Christmas of 2004. That
was the year of the Ice Storm. The kids still call it the 12 Days of
Christmas because of all the different places they stayed for almost two
weeks, while waiting for our electricity to be reconnected.
Most Christmases my occupation has required that I work. My wife, who
has a real job as an RN, also works most Christmases, either at Highland
District Hospital or at Hospice of Hope. Juggling our respective schedules
isn’t always easy. But we’ve always managed to share the opening of
presents, the exchanging of gifts and the warmth of a few happy, young
faces.
The children are young adults now. They still humor us by getting up
early on Christmas morning and acting surprised when they open their
presents. Some day, they’ll be doing this with their own families and
creating their own special Christmas memories. I’m not altogether OK with
that, but I understand and accept that it is the natural progression in
life.
Aside from the obvious reason – and the important reason – for the
celebration, if there’s one thing that I hope our children will always
remember about Christmas, it’s this: You better thank your mother.
I’m sure they already know this, but I’m not exactly the person you want
to pick out “that special gift.” In fact, I’m not even the person you want
to pick out a not-so-special gift. My acumen for such tasks is about as good
as my knowledge of Chinese calculus. It’s not that I’m Ebenezer Scrooge’s
grandson or anything. I just can’t make a decent decision on an appropriate
gift. Fortunately, their mother is not so afflicted. (And, even more
fortunately, she has a real job!)
As it is with many families in southern Ohio, this won’t be one of
Santa’s bigger years at our house. But that’s OK. We’ll have some fun
exchanging gifts. We’ll enjoy a good Christmas dinner with family. And we
will be truly thankful, thankful for our Saviour’s birth, and thankful for
our blessings of family and friends.
Isn’t that what Christmas is all about?
Rory Ryan is publisher and editor of The Highland County Press.[[In-content Ad]]