Christmas Memories Part 1
As we get closer and closer to Christmas, I'm finding myself becoming incredibly nostalgic and missing my family. Since I can't spend the holidays with them this year, I'm left to console myself with the next best thing: memories. So I've decided that from now until Christmas (won't necessarily be everyday) I'm going to do a series of posts on my favorite holiday memories. To kick things off, I'm going to share my all-time favorite Christmas memory.
The year: 1989.
I was seven years old.
We drove from UT to WA to spend Christmas with my dad's side of the family.
We stayed at my grandparents' house with my uncle and two of my aunts.
This year has become infamous in my family. Whenever we reminisce about holidays past, this is the first one that always comes to mind.
In the days leading up to our trip to WA, I worried that Santa wouldn't be able to find me. My mom assured me that he would. He'd been to Grandma and Grandpa's before, after all. When my dad and uncle and aunts were children. I hoped she was right, but left a note for him on our coffee table with my grandparents' address, just in case.
On Christmas Eve, I woke up early, already bubbling with excitement. My grandparents, also early risers, were making breakfast. Grandpa was making his trademark buckwheat pancakes with honey instead of syrup. Grandma was at the table with her magnifying mirror putting on her makeup. I joined them, devouring as many of Grandpa's pancakes as I could. My head was filled with plans for how we'd spend the day.
After everyone was awake and had breakfast, I made an announcement: We were going to put on a Nativity play to kick off our Christmas Eve celebrations that night and I was going to direct it.
I assigned everyone their parts. I, of course, would be Mary. Grandpa got a dual role of Joseph and the donkey. Dad was the innkeeper. Lola was the angel. Mom, Grandma, and Laurie were the shepherds. I can't remember what Bill was. All day long, I went from person to person, feeding them their lines and making sure they rehearsed as often as possible. This was going to be a Nativity to remember.
By the time evening fell and it was time to celebrate, everyone had rehearsed to my satisfaction. We were ready!
I rearranged the family room to fit my set and we were just about to begin when the doorbell rang. Of course! How could I have forgotten that the Hartmans always spent Christmas Eve with my grandparents? But it worked out perfectly because I realized we were missing our wise men. Grandma and Grandpa showed the Hartmans inside. They were still taking off their jackets when I graciously informed them that they could have the honor of playing the wise men. Fortunately, they were more than willing to humor my seven-year-old antics.
Finally, we were ready.
Grandpa got down on his hands and knees as the donkey, so I could ride on his back to the innkeeper. When we got there, Grandpa, now in his role as Joseph, asked Dad if we could have a room. Dad, who was supposed to say, somewhat regretfully, that there was no room, instead said, "There's no d**n room at the inn so go the h**l away!"
I halted the pageant to chastize him for using such bad language and during the Nativity of all times! I went on and on about how inappropriate it was and how he shouldn't talk that way to Mary. Dad's face was beet red from trying not to laugh as he apologized and resaid his lines, correctly this time.
When it was time for the angel to proclaim Jesus' birth to the shepherds, Lola stood on a stool, belting her lines as she flung her arms out a little too exuberantly and almost fell on the shepherds. Everyone started laughing and I got so upset because my perfectly planned pageant wasn't going the way it was supposed to.
We finally finished with no further incidents and continued on with our celebrations.
A little later on, I heard a noise from the roof. It sounded like stomping. I asked everyone if they heard it and my mom said it must be Santa's reindeer but since I wasn't in bed yet, he'd have to come back later. My mom said that to this day, she's never seen anyone run into bed as fast as I did right then.
Years later, I learned that my dad and uncle had climbed up on the roof and were stomping around. One of them, I can't remember if it was my dad or my uncle, tried to shout, "Ho! Ho! Ho!" down the chimney but ended up with a face full of smoke instead. He started coughing so hard he almost fell off the roof.
The next morning, when I woke up, I found a scrap of red flannel caught on the fireplace, all jagged-edged and everything. This was proof that Santa was real and he'd torn his suit on my grandparent's fireplace! That and my mom was right. He'd known where to find me and deliver my presents. I remember thinking that was the best Christmas ever. And to this day, I still think that. It's also the most memorable.
The year: 1989.
I was seven years old.
We drove from UT to WA to spend Christmas with my dad's side of the family.
We stayed at my grandparents' house with my uncle and two of my aunts.
This year has become infamous in my family. Whenever we reminisce about holidays past, this is the first one that always comes to mind.
In the days leading up to our trip to WA, I worried that Santa wouldn't be able to find me. My mom assured me that he would. He'd been to Grandma and Grandpa's before, after all. When my dad and uncle and aunts were children. I hoped she was right, but left a note for him on our coffee table with my grandparents' address, just in case.
On Christmas Eve, I woke up early, already bubbling with excitement. My grandparents, also early risers, were making breakfast. Grandpa was making his trademark buckwheat pancakes with honey instead of syrup. Grandma was at the table with her magnifying mirror putting on her makeup. I joined them, devouring as many of Grandpa's pancakes as I could. My head was filled with plans for how we'd spend the day.
After everyone was awake and had breakfast, I made an announcement: We were going to put on a Nativity play to kick off our Christmas Eve celebrations that night and I was going to direct it.
I assigned everyone their parts. I, of course, would be Mary. Grandpa got a dual role of Joseph and the donkey. Dad was the innkeeper. Lola was the angel. Mom, Grandma, and Laurie were the shepherds. I can't remember what Bill was. All day long, I went from person to person, feeding them their lines and making sure they rehearsed as often as possible. This was going to be a Nativity to remember.
By the time evening fell and it was time to celebrate, everyone had rehearsed to my satisfaction. We were ready!
I rearranged the family room to fit my set and we were just about to begin when the doorbell rang. Of course! How could I have forgotten that the Hartmans always spent Christmas Eve with my grandparents? But it worked out perfectly because I realized we were missing our wise men. Grandma and Grandpa showed the Hartmans inside. They were still taking off their jackets when I graciously informed them that they could have the honor of playing the wise men. Fortunately, they were more than willing to humor my seven-year-old antics.
Finally, we were ready.
Grandpa got down on his hands and knees as the donkey, so I could ride on his back to the innkeeper. When we got there, Grandpa, now in his role as Joseph, asked Dad if we could have a room. Dad, who was supposed to say, somewhat regretfully, that there was no room, instead said, "There's no d**n room at the inn so go the h**l away!"
I halted the pageant to chastize him for using such bad language and during the Nativity of all times! I went on and on about how inappropriate it was and how he shouldn't talk that way to Mary. Dad's face was beet red from trying not to laugh as he apologized and resaid his lines, correctly this time.
When it was time for the angel to proclaim Jesus' birth to the shepherds, Lola stood on a stool, belting her lines as she flung her arms out a little too exuberantly and almost fell on the shepherds. Everyone started laughing and I got so upset because my perfectly planned pageant wasn't going the way it was supposed to.
We finally finished with no further incidents and continued on with our celebrations.
A little later on, I heard a noise from the roof. It sounded like stomping. I asked everyone if they heard it and my mom said it must be Santa's reindeer but since I wasn't in bed yet, he'd have to come back later. My mom said that to this day, she's never seen anyone run into bed as fast as I did right then.
Years later, I learned that my dad and uncle had climbed up on the roof and were stomping around. One of them, I can't remember if it was my dad or my uncle, tried to shout, "Ho! Ho! Ho!" down the chimney but ended up with a face full of smoke instead. He started coughing so hard he almost fell off the roof.
The next morning, when I woke up, I found a scrap of red flannel caught on the fireplace, all jagged-edged and everything. This was proof that Santa was real and he'd torn his suit on my grandparent's fireplace! That and my mom was right. He'd known where to find me and deliver my presents. I remember thinking that was the best Christmas ever. And to this day, I still think that. It's also the most memorable.