Teenage Christmas Memories

Originally Published Dec. 2012

The house is completely decorated for Christmas.  The snow is starting to fall and the lights on the trees outside have just gone on for the evening.  Il Divo is singing O Holy Night and I am sitting next to the Christmas tree with all its twinkling lights glowing in the dark.  Il Divo is now on to the next selection on the CD, which is I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas and I’m all tucked in for a long winter’s night of reminiscing about my Christmas’ as a teenager.

I have two particular memories that stand out – mainly since they became “traditions” in our household for many, many years.  The first one centers around my grandpa.  Grandpa liked to go out into the woods up north near Duluth and hunt deer.  While I have absolutely no memory of him ever coming home with any kind of an animal, I do remember he always came home with two Christmas trees – one for my family and the other for his and Grandma’s home.  He never paid for these trees.  He “hunted” on property owned by his sister and her family and had the pick of their trees in 40 acres of woods.

The “pickings” were not wonderful, however.  Grandpa never – and I mean never – came home with a tree that one could just place in the tree stand and sing Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree while decorating it with ornaments and tinsel.  I can still picture my poor dad, sawing the trunk (sometimes a double trunk) into a manageable size to fit into the tree stand and then carving holes into the trunk in order to re-position the branches. 

Grandpa’s perception of the height of our ceilings was different every year, also.  Some years, dad would have to saw a foot or so off the bottom and some years, he had to place the tree on a box to make it tall enough to fill the room.  It was always an adventure – at least for us kids – and I do remember always learning a few new words from my dad during this time of assembling the tree.

The end result was always beautiful, of course, and dad had to admit every year that it was worth all of the trouble when he’d finally turn on the lights and we’d all admire his fine handy work – our angel sitting on the top branch, our homemade ornaments carefully placed for all to see, and the tinsel sparkling in the light’s afterglow.

Now, at this time, I have to take some poetic license and talk about tinsel.  I don’t think tinsel is even sold nowadays, but…. back in the good ol’ days (and we know when that was), tinsel was used by everyone.  Most families re-used the tinsel year after year because we were not a throw-away generation.  My mother’s method was one I hated:  she’d have us place each strand separately on the branches.  This was too time consuming for me and, therefore, whenever she wasn’t looking, I would throw the strands willy nilly.  If she caught me, I’d have to re-do it –- her way.  She would always catch me though, so I don’t know why I troubled to even try to get away with it.

But, I digress.  My second long-held memory is from Christmas Eve.  Our tradition was that my mom and dad, my brother, Steve, my sister, Joanne, and I would open our presents on Christmas Eve.  Of course, we had to eat our dinner and wash and dry the dishes before any of our festivities could start.  Now, that normally would not be a problem – if one’s family were normal, that is.  But, my mom and dad owned a bar and café…. One that usually stayed open until one in the morning.  On Christmas Eve, however, my parents would declare the bar closed at 5:00.  Each year in the afternoon, mom would make a hot dish that could just be re-heated for dinner and she’d put us kids in charge of setting the table, making the salad and vegetable, and not getting into any trouble while she would go to the bar to help dad close up the place and get everyone to go home.

This NEVER happened, of course.  Five o’clock would come.  Steve, Joanne, and I would have the house looking perfectly – the tree would be lit.  The hot dish was simmering on the stove.  Table set.  We’d be dressed in our fancy Christmas clothes – all waiting.  Six o’clock – no mom and dad.  Seven o’clock – still no parents.  Finally, usually around 7:30 or 8:00, they’d arrive home.

Well, I have got to tell you.  We must have set the world’s record for “fastest dinner eaten” every single year.  And, this was the one day of the year that you would find my brother actually helping his sisters with the dishes.  I can guarantee you that within 10 minutes of my parent’s arrival, we had eaten dinner, washed, dried, and put away all the dishes –--- all without any fights.  

This was truly one of the true miracles of Christmas!