We had our Christmas on Christmas Eve. It was our tradition with little variation for many years. It went something like this: Mother would get me up at the crack of dawn. I really didn't like that part and it took me most of the morning to get my Christmas Cheer on. Aunt Violet and Uncle Willie, Grandma's brother, celebrated with their children on Christmas Day but they came to our house the night before. We had cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and turkey and cake that Grandma always insisted was made with my daddy in mind. After all, as she said, John loved his sweets and he worked hard. She almost sounded like she pitied him for working so hard. Therefore, he deserved to have his sweets. But that's another tradition for another blog entry. The table was full of delicious food. Then Santa would finally come and everyone opened their gifts.
In this particular year, I got busy as soon as the Sears Christmas Catalog arrived. I went through the pages carefully trying to decide which doll was THE one for me. I marked the doll by circling her picture. I'm sure I picked out other things, too, but I only remember the dolls. I usually wanted them all so the decision was hard. Mother let me pick out two or three "in case Santa ran low on his stock". That way I wouldn't be disappointed as much. Each got circled. This particular year I really, really, really wanted the Tiny Baby Chatty Cathy. She talked. None of my dolls had ever done that before. I "wrote" my letter to Santa with my mother's help and sent it off to the North Pole and waited for what seemed like eternity.
Then the day came. Grandma arrived and the cooking began. The house smelled great. Grandpa sat in the living room watching TV and asking me a bunch of questions. It seemed he always wanted to know something. Grandpa was hard of hearing and I had to shout to try to make him hear me. It usually didn't help. I would get frustrated. I was relieved when Uncle Willie got there. They could talk forever. Uncle Willie's arrival also indicated that it was getting close to the time Santa would come. Dinner would soon be ready and Daddy would be home. Then, after dishes were done, it would be discovered that Santa had left presents on the front porch. I learned that Santa liked milk and cookies. At some point, I started leaving some for him under the tree, hoping to catch him. He successfully evaded me year after year.
The morning after: 1964
I'm not a morning person. Never have been.
Me, Grandpa Jenkins, and my brother
After dinner, the men sat in the living room, while the rest of us cleaned up the table. None of them ever saw Santa. I couldn't understand how Santa could come in and eat those cookies and drink that milk and not one of them could hear or see him. I always thought they fell asleep after eating such a big meal and maybe that was their excuse. Those men could really put down some serious amounts of food. Trust me.
Grandma always insisted that the dishes be washed, dried, and put away before we could have Christmas. Even from the smallest age, I was given a task in the kitchen. When I was younger I put the silver in its box and the Tupperware containers in the refrigerator as my mother filled them with leftovers. Those duties evolved until I was drying dishes and putting them in the cabinet (while standing on a chair. As I got even older and could be trusted with fragile items, I learned to set the table; where the knife went, where the water and tea glasses went, where to place the napkin, and so forth. Talk about fun! It was so neat to be so "fancy"). Finally, we would finish. I hated this part. I'd fuss. Grandma would assure me it wouldn't take long and that we'd "go through them like a dose of salts". I had no idea what that meant or what it had to do with doing dishes. I just wanted to be done with the task and open the presents.
Eventually we'd finish. Then, just as Grandma went into the laundry room/old back porch to hang up her dish towel to dry, a knock was heard, every single year. I remember that it always sounded like it came from the back door but Grandma always turned me around and said the knock was coming from the front of the house. I'd run. Daddy turned on the front porch light. Grandpa was on the edge of his chair with a grin on his face. Sure enough, Santa left the packages on the front porch. Daddy pulled them in and I got down to business opening my loot.
Typically, Aunt Violet always wanted to see what I had so after I opened each package, I'd hand it off to her for her inspection. We'd open our gifts to each other as well at that time. I'd play and play and play with my new toys, sometimes bringing out my older toys to join in the fun. Then it was over for another year.
But, 1964 was a different story. On this particular Christmas something went wrong, very wrong. I ALWAYS got a doll. I opened packages and handed the items off but there wasn't a doll. I began to cry. Aunt Violet thought surely the doll was there and she went through the discarded boxes. Grandma thought maybe a package was left on the porch. Daddy didn't think so. Mother checked and sure enough, Daddy was right. Grandma said maybe it fell out of the sleigh and suggested that Daddy go out in the yard and look. Daddy, again, didn't think that happened. After all, Santa didn't make big mistakes like this. He must have forgotten it. (Really? If he didn't make big mistakes like dropping the doll how could he make a bigger mistake by forgetting it?) Grandma insisted and Daddy resisted. I thought he'd better watch out, you didn't mess with Grandma. I cried and Aunt Violet pulled me onto her lap while the others discussed what to do. Finally, Grandma went to the coat closet and came back with a big flashlight. It was big and square, red in color, and had a handle. It was the super-duper flashlight. She shoved it into Daddy's hand and dispatched him onto the lawn in nothing flat. (I knew he needed to mind her or else...). Soon Daddy came in the house with my Tiny Baby Chatty Cathy doll in her box. He was a hero! I hugged him and told him I loved him. (I probably should have passed all that adoration to Grandma instead because if she hadn't put him on the straight and narrow, I'd still be crying.)
Years later it was discovered that Grandma and Daddy were in cahoots. Imagine that! My list of wanted items never went to the North Pole. Instead, it went to Brentwood Street, (Mayfield Township) in Middletown, Ohio where Grandma Kells and Grandpa Jenkins would open and read it and then go shopping at Montgomery Wards and Sears for the items on it. Grandma would make a trip to visit between Thanksgiving and Christmas and go to Falmouth before coming to the house. She would drop off the loot at the dealership and Daddy would store it in the upstairs. He had the farm machinery dealership in Shoemaker Town and we didn't get there often so that was presumed a safe hiding place. Then when Christmas Eve came, she'd call him at work (something we rarely did because Mother always said Daddy was busy working and we shouldn't disturb him) and let him know what time Aunt Violet and Uncle Willie were coming (what time dinner was going to be served). Then Daddy would always call and ask to speak to Grandma. I always thought that odd since I never heard them talking on the phone together any other time but, hey, it was Christmas. This was his "heads up" to her that he was on his way with Santa's gifts. The adults would keep me, and later on, my brother, busy so that Daddy wouldn't get caught pulling up in front of the house and unloading the Santa stuff onto the front porch. After unloading, he would then pull into the drive and drive around to the back of the house, coming in the back door like he did every other night.
As for the dropped doll, he never realized that he let it fall off the stack of packages. The yard was dark. He'd turned the lights off the truck so I wouldn't get curious if I had happened to be looking out the window. I often watched for him to get home. To his credit, he had his "thinking cap" on. He simply couldn't see where he was going and was more concerned with that than with losing packages.
Baby Chatty Cathy and Me
When my son came along, Daddy helped with the delivery of Santa's wares. I always reminded him to count the packages because I didn't have a big, red, square flashlight he could use if we were short. We'd always get a laugh. He always made a comment about Grandma making him go out in the cold to look for THAT doll. Mother always sighed and said that "ordeal" was a nightmare. She just didn't know what they were going to do if that doll wasn't in the yard. She never did find the situation nearly as funny as Daddy and I did. Never.
Since I was let in on the whole story, it's been one that I think of every year. It causes me to remember our traditions and all the things that didn't make sense but I was willing to let slide, the very reasons that Christmas was a magical time. I remember the extra leaf added to the table, the silver coming out to be used, the crystal glasses we only used at Christmas. I feel the excitement that was in the air as I waited for the dishes to be done and Santa to come. I recall the people that are no longer here but yet continue to be with me in my heart every Christmas since their passing. I remember the joy I experienced and I savor the memory.
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