One of the lessons I have learned as a parent is that I will never stop wondering if I am providing the absolute best for my sons. My parents, my mom in particular, have been known to stress when thinking they hadn’t given my older brother and I the perfect childhood. Sitting here, in the glow of the ceramic Christmas tree that was hand made by my mom two years prior to my birth, I am inclined to disagree.
Prior to completing her teaching degree while in her forties, my mom worked several jobs and she often expresses regret that she was not able to take my brother and I on exotic vacations or trips. (However, I have quite a humorous story about a nasty note left to the town of Ontario, Canada, following my dad receiving an over-priced parking ticket.)
I grew up in the 1980’s. Thankfully long before the introduction of all things electronic. My childhood summer days were splattered with mud pies, nights of hide & seek in my neighborhood, weekends spent sleeping in a camper at a campground, countless moments spent swimming in our backyard pool and remaining outside most nights until after dark. I find myself feeling entirely grateful that I had these experiences.
I have an abundance of summer memories. But my Christmas memories are ones that, to this day, create nostalgia for me every single year. I vividly remember my parents consistently decorating our house with lights. This always included my dad clambering out the bedroom window and hanging lights on the second story of our quaint home. Our house consistently displayed the most extravagant light display on our street. This was expected since we also always had the most elaborate Trick-or-Treat shenanigans as well (I’m talking Wizard of Oz with a yellow brick road and poppy field.) One year, my dad fabricated a one-story-tall A-frame Christmas tree, which he strung garland and lights across prior to placing it atop our front porch roof.
My parents made sure to include retro Christmas decorations, such as functioning bubble lights on our tree, which I am certain was the inception of my love of antiques. Our Christmas tree was always a real tree. I have a multitude of memories that include traipsing through a tree farm with my family in order to choose our family Christmas tree each year. We chopped the tree down, strapped it on our mini-van (we had several over the years) and then decorated it as a family with a variety of cherished home-made ornaments.
One of our annual traditions each Christmas was driving around our suburban area, taking in as many light displays as possible, while listening to traditional Christmas tunes along the way. We did not gaze upon houses with light shows perfectly timed to music or gigantic inflatable displays of Santa popping out from a trailer, we merely saw LIGHTS. Nonetheless, this is one of my most cherished childhood traditions because it involved my family and I, just enjoying the moment.
My family's annual tradition included spending Christmas Eve at our church candlelight ceremony. To this day, when I walk into that same sanctuary on Christmas Eve, I feel the same rush of excitement that once coursed through my body on Christmas Eve as a child. Inevitably during the course of growing into an adult, we often lose our childhood sense of magic toward Christmas and there is nothing quite as moving as tangibly feeling emotions that I felt in my childhood days.
Some of my most cherished memories occurred on Christmas morning. Typically I was the one to wake up my family, at an excessively early hour, which prompted my mom to begin baking her delicious egg casserole (also a tradition I love to this day!) Following thereafter, my brother and I ran down the stairs to set our sights on our piles of presents left under the tree. Before we tore into our gifts, we would dutifully check the crumb-covered plate that remained after Santa devoured the cookies we left out for him. Many years we also found snips of “reindeer” hair near the plate as well, which we learned years later were snipped from our fortunately deer-colored dog.
My dad would tote a trash bag into the living room and while my parents drank their coffee, they watched my brother and I tear into presents. After presents were opened, without fail, one of my parents would notice something else that was left, which was typically a note in an envelope. Upon opening the envelope, my brother and I would be sent on a scavenger hunt...finding rhyming clues at each spot, often sending us outside, to our attic and many other places. The final clue in our hunt always lead us to our big, most sought after gifts. I cannot tell you one of those gifts that we received at the end of those scavenger hunts, but I can remember each hunt like it was yesterday. This completely encapsulated Christmas morning for me. And for that reason, I still send my own sons on similar scavenger hunts each Christmas.
These days, my sons desire electronics and other objects that are quite expensive. Just as my parents did during my childhood, I often worry that I will disappoint them by refraining from gifting them with all of their expensive desires. Fortunately during these moments of otherwise doubting my parenting abilities, I am able to regain perspective and remind myself that it is the moments they will remember and not the physical gifts they receive. The ceramic Christmas tree that is now lighting up my living room helps to remind me this on a regular basis. I am eternally grateful to my parents for the childhood they provided for me and I can only hope that I am providing the same kind of childhood that will provide moments of nostalgia for my boys as they remember their younger days as adults.
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