“There must have been some magic in that old silk hat they found…” goes the ever-popular “Frosty” song.
It is a magical season: baking favorite things, sharing visits with friends, gathering with family, watching children’s eyes light up with wonder, enjoying beloved carols, seeing homes adorned with light and seasonal greens, and observing manger scenes that bring to mind the real reason behind the season.
One day at the office, we were talking about memorable Christmases. There are so many, but a few stand out for me.
Sometimes, it was the presents…
I remember my longed-for “Dancerina” ballerina doll — she wore a pink ruffly tutu and had a pink plastic crown on her head. You held onto the crown, and she twirled and played tunes from “The Nutcracker.” The sound was staticky and a bit distorted, but I was 5 — it was absolutely enthralling. And one year a Big Wheel appeared under the tree, and I’m sure Mom and Dad were inwardly cringing at the thought of me speeding around the house on those wheels, but they appeared as excited as I was at what Santa had left.
Sometimes, though, the best presents were people…
When I was little, my family had a pre-Christmas gag gift party. One year it was at my grandparents’ farm in Washburn. It was a crisp, starry night and the fields were snow-covered. The house was adorned with a real tree and the kitchen held smells of turkey and mincemeat pie (real mincemeat, mind you, with venison). We gathered in the living room to exchange our small gag gifts and that’s when I learned to play “Button, Button.” I must have only been 3 or 4, so this was the Best. Game. Ever. For some reason I still remember going to everyone’s clasped hands as I sang, “Button, button, who’s got the button?” Many of those hands are now precious memories.
Then one year when I was 10 or 11, unbeknownst to the rest of us, my aunt and uncle had conspired with longtime family friends for a special holiday visit.
Joe and Vicki had met my grandparents during World War II, when Joe was stationed here in Presque Isle, and became fast friends. (Vicki’s full name was Wanda Helena Magdalena — yup, “Vicki” it was.) They watched my mother and aunt grow up, and when I came along they were like family to me as well. We called and corresponded and they visited at least every other summer.
Well, one year they decided to spend a surprise Christmas with us, enlisting my aunt and uncle’s help to keep the secret.
One night close to Christmas, my aunt called our house.
“There’s a big package here for you guys,” she said.
“What kind of a package?” my mother asked.
“Well, it was delivered here, and it’s too big for us to carry over there.”
My young curiosity was over the moon. A present — a BIG one — what could it be?
So we tramped outside and across ours and the neighbors’ backyards to my aunt and uncle’s house. And there were my grandparents, too.
“What are you guys doing here?” everyone asked in unison.
Into the house we went, aflutter with excitement.
“It’s in the dining room,” my uncle said.
We got to the doorway and — Surprise! Out popped Joe and Vicki, grinning from ear to ear and shouting “Merry Christmas!” Excited laughter and hugs were shared all around.
I still remember the joy of having our old friends with us that year, and I think that remains one of our most memorable holidays — and Joe himself never got over being woken up at 3 o’clock that Christmas morning by an excited child.
Now that I’m older, of course, the magic is different. Though I still remember those tingly, childlike “visions of sugarplums,” enjoyment of things is less important than the greatest gifts: family, friends, faith, hope.
It isn’t the trappings that make it Christmas. Oh, I love shopping for special gifts, and who doesn’t love opening a sparkly package? But the real magic is being able to give, to share, to gather, to remember and believe. And let’s face it: somehow, Christmas lets us all be kids again.
Now go ahead, have some hot chocolate, and go outdoors to make a snowman. And don’t forget the hat.
Best wishes to all of our readers for a truly merry Christmas.
