Today is House of My Youth day, but I kind of took a side rail yesterday to Christmas memories. Still, after so many years in the Old House I fancy I can come up with a related Christmas memory.
Most of our family Christmases took place in our living room. Then, in January, we would close that room off to conserve heat/fuel. I seem to recall having Christmas in the dining room one year, but I may be wrong. And there was at least one year when we did Christmas up at Grandma's in Willow River.
Our trees at the Old House were all monstrous. They were free, so we could afford any size we wanted. For a few years we had this awful topper. It looked like the end of a spear or something, with a big ball near the base filled with "angel hair", which made you itch. That was replaced by a five-pointed star. Plain, but no scratching required. Our electric lights were the big bulbs. D-size, I suppose. And they did not blink. I always wanted blinking lights. The wonderful thing about our lights was that if one bulb burned out, none would shine. This involved a process of determininig the offending bulb. Gayanne usually took charge of that.
Each year our parents would pick one of their children to dote on for Christmas. I remember when it was Judayl's turn. She wanted only blue lights. The rest of us moaned and groaned, and I believe there was more than one fight about it, but in the end it was Judayl's decision and, like the rest of us, Judayl wasn't going to be bullied into changing her mind. We had blue lights that year. I don't recall what all Judayl got that year. Heck, I can hardly remember what I got in any given year. What I remember more than the presents was how happy I was at Christmas.
Christmas was a big deal at school back then. There would be official gift exchanges, and Christmas programs depicting the Nativity. That's against the law now. Pity. I didn't know what the programs were about (back then), but I liked them. I liked the songs and the plays. I wanted to be picked for a part in the plays, but I never was. It was always the same kids every year - the popular ones. The ones who couldn't remember their parts when they were reading them. Morons. I knew all the parts by heart. But I was never picked. (I was a bit of a hellion, and teachers just didn't pick hellions for anything - except slapping.) I suppose it's right about taking the Nativity out of school, but it's still a shame. Those programs added so much. And let's be real: most of us kids didn't have a clue about the message. I didn't. Not then. I knew all of the lines, but I didn't know what it meant. That came later.
An example of how difficult I could be would be Christmas in second grade. Like all kids my age I was excited about Christmas. What a wonderful time! It was the only time of the year when grown ups let themselves believe in magic. Sure, it was all pretend. But that's the biggest part of fun - pretending!
Well, we had a Christmas tree in our classroom, and everyone was required to bring a gift. Gifts stereotypical for boys and girls had to be marked, "boy" or "girl". This is how it worked:
All of the presents were placed under the tree. Presents were grouped according to "girl", "boy" or "either". Numbers would be drawn to determine the order that students went up to select a gift. Mrs. Fickling, our teacher, stood close at hand to make sure no boy got stuck with a "girl" gift, and vice versa. (This meant she would sometimes take away the right of choice and direct a student to a particular present.)
Well, I was having a blast. This was fun! Too much fun for Mrs. Fickling. I wound up getting slapped. Not only that, but I was automatically placed last in line. I had been in the first twelve. This pissed me off! As far as I was concerned I had done no wrong. So what if I was a little loud? It was Christmas, for Christ's sake. (pun intended) Well, it wasn't fun anymore. My attitude was, to hell with it. So when my turn finally came, and there was just the one present left, I wouldn't go get it. Mrs. Fickling ordered me to. I said no. She came to my desk and ordered me again. I said no. Slap. Go get it! No! Slap. She grabbed my shoulder. She dragged me to the tree and put the present in my hand. I threw it. Slap. She dragged me back to my desk and put the present in front of me. (If you have read my earlier posts, then you will notice a pattern which took place with most of my grade school teachers. I got slapped a lot.) Then she went to the front of the class and gave the release to open presents.
I did not open mine. It sat unattended while I cried in my hands. Mrs. Fickling told me to open it, but I was willing to be slapped to death before I was going to do that. Some of my classmates, understanding this at some unspoken level, hurried and opened it for me. It was a giant candy cane, except it didn't have the curve part. It was also broken into a million-zillion pieces. I let my classmates eat it. I ate none of it. That was the price of pride and stupidity.
It's odd, though. I was involved in present exchanges at school from kindergarten through at least grade five, and maybe six. But I only remember one gift: a candy cane which I never tasted. I wonder why that is?
Christmas at the Old House was never like that. Mother (who was not above slapping any more than the teachers were) did not slap at Christmas. She just threw us out of the house and didn't let us back in for at least an hour. There are a lot of things I miss about being at the Old House. I think Christmas may top the list.
May your Christmas be a wonderful one this year. Oh, and don't get slapped.
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