The Twelve Years of Christmas

            Over the next three weeks I will be musing over twelve Christmases past. Some of the gifts I’ve received or traditions I’ve observed have made an indelible mark in my mind and I’d like to share the memories with you. Many of my Christmas memories are related to the outdoors and the beauty of the season, so sit back, relax, and reminisce with me.

The Best Present Ever

            Every boy wants a dog for Christmas at some point in his life. After not receiving a dog for seventeen years, I had slightly given up hope. My 18^th Christmas Eve, as I was preparing to go to sleep, I decided to enjoy some eggnog before calling it a night. As I approached the basement stairs to go up to the kitchen, I noticed a light on in one of the storage rooms. I slowly pushed the door open and was surprised at the sight of a living snowball rolling around in a makeshift cage. My parents had finally given in to my wish! Needless to say, the next day I had to act extra surprised so my parents wouldn’t know I had found the puppy the night before. I quickly taught the little American Eskimo dog I received that year to follow me in the snow by hopping from footstep to footstep. He was my most faithful hiking companion.

My Father, the Clever Procrastinator

            My father seemed to always wait until three or less days before Christmas before “buying” a Christmas tree. I don’t remember ever being sad that we didn’t have a tree until later in the season, but I do remember the excitement of finally searching for our tree. By the fourth time I participated in a “late” tree hunt, I was beginning to catch on to what my dad was doing. It usually went something like this: Our big, old van would park in front of the tree lot and four or five of us children would spill out along with our somewhat frazzled father. We children would all promptly disappear among the sparse trees. Our father would begin talking to the salesman, who would observe the multiple children and say something like, “Well, it’s almost Christmas, and I probably won’t be selling too many more trees, plus you’ve got all these kids that have waited so long for a tree, so have one on me.” We would then pile back into the van after the tree was secured and ride home singing carols, imagining how we would decorate the tree. And my father still had $20 in his wallet.

The Sledding Tradition

            I grew up in a neighborhood with a giant sledding hill in the nearby park. The hill was a good 40-feet high and it was a few hundred feet long, allowing plenty of people to sled at the same time. One year I got a sled with brakes. The sled was long, plastic and orange, and it looked sleek and fast, but it bugged me that it had brakes. What self-respecting daredevil would even think about using brakes while sledding? My first run down the hill with that sled ended up in a nasty collision with a rock. After that, I used the brakes. But very discreetly.

The Coldest Christmas

            One year around Christmas my dad organized a service project in connection with an organization that provided aid to the homeless. He came home and told us kids that we would be helping serve breakfast to a few hundred homeless people outside. I was in charge of the French toast. As I would place a couple slices of toast on each person’s plate, my feet got colder and colder, but I quickly learned not to complain, because I realized the people I was serving had to be freezing. I watched as one of the men ate sausages with his fingers, which were poking out of his threadbare gloves. I saw children about my age huddling close to their parents, grateful for their own plate of food. Every year since, I have thought about that experience and know that there will always be people who want to make a difference and help those in need.

             Stay tuned next week for four more memories and until then, get out there and make your own!