Those Jolly Good Memories of Christmases Past

Mom was unusually quiet one day after school just before Christmas. I knew something was up.

She ordered brother Warren and me into the station wagon. We didn’t dare ask where we were going but it soon became apparent that we were getting a Christmas tree, something Dad was supposed to have done a couple weeks earlier. With Christmas close at hand, Mom did not cherish this task. She had enough to do with baking, typing up the Christmas letter and wrapping gifts. But it had to be done.

It was probably a combination of spite and the limited last minute pickings that resulted in the Charlie Brown Christmas tree she chose. Dad resumed this duty after that and for many years took us boys to the Christmas tree farm just this side of Bay City, where we cut our own from what seemed like acres to choose from. In the end, all the angst of that bad tree year disappeared.

Every family has its own holiday schedules and traditions. We had ours, which varied some. We usually opened gifts on Christmas Eve so that we could head to our cabin in Strum, Wisconsin on Christmas Day to visit our many relatives in that area. I remember some years we opened our gifts on Dec. 23 so we could drive to Strum for Christmas Eve at The Farm, the central location for the annual gathering of relatives on my mother’s side. It was a big brick house just perfect for kids to play hide and seek.

The only sad part of the gathering at The Farm was that the kids who lived there got to open their presents in front of us. We had, of course, already opened ours back in Red Wing and those toys would have to wait there until we got home. Mom knew this so always brought one small gift for us to open.

It was actually many years before I realized that most of my friends opened their gifts on Christmas morning. I knew that Santa was supposed to deliver gifts Christmas Eve to be opened the next morning, but I figured we were special with Santa somehow and got ours early. Maybe a trial run.

No matter where we were for Christmas Eve, though, we ate a huge dinner that included lutefisk and lefse, Swedish meatballs, mashed potatoes and gravy. Then we had to wait while the women did the dishes. Sexist, I know, but they wouldn’t even let us help to speed things up. They cherished taking their time chatting about anything and everything.

Over the years there were many memorable gift stories. One year, before I was born, my sister Laurel asked for a watch for Christmas. Mom explained it as follows. “I warned her that because a watch was expensive, it would be the only gift she’d get. But Laurel insisted that all she wanted was a watch. Well, she got her watch and cried watching younger brother Bruce open several gifts.”

Another gift story involved my younger brother Warren. He proudly presented Mom with a carefully wrapped gift of things he knew Mom would appreciate including numerous spools of sewing thread in various colors. It also included sewing needles, a thimble, and an assortment of other small treasures he found in the upper loft area of the Farmer Store during what was likely his first Christmas shopping trip downtown by himself.

After Mom opened the gift there was a moment of silence before everyone burst out laughing, prompting him to cry. He had worked hard giving her things he knew she could use and which he could afford. A sincere thank-you hug from Mom fixed everything.

My favorite Christmas gift story involves my brother Dave. We had opened all the gifts under the tree. Our thrashing through the sea of wrapping paper made certain of that. But Dave knew he had been shortchanged because all he had received were the usual socks and the sweater he’d never wear. He hadn’t received his one major “fun” gift like the rest of us had and were already playing with.

What made it worse was that he already knew what the gift was, having long ago found it in the folks’ bedroom closet. He had secretly been unwrapping it, playing with it and rewrapping it for weeks. But how could he ask about a gift he wasn’t supposed to know about?

He wanted to say, “Is that all there is?”, which was a common question we asked when we realized all the gifts were open and we hadn’t received what we had hoped for. But that would be too obvious.

Mom noticed Dave admiring his new socks and asked if he liked his gifts. “Fine,” he politely replied. She must have wondered if something was wrong because Dave would not be this subdued on Christmas Eve.

Suddenly, Mom got a funny look on her face and said, “Just a minute!”

She returned with a big present. Dave acted surprised and tore into the frayed wrapping, revealing a toy gas station that included cars you could fill with gas. It even had a service section on an upper deck with hoists. Not surprisingly, he knew exactly how it all worked.

Did Mom really forget the gift or was she trying to teach him a lesson about expectations? Dave, who was given many opportunities to learn life’s lessons in his youth, still wonders.