I am feeling nostalgic because Christmas makes feel that way. The season probably wasn't as positive as I remember, but I still feel it. My Mom would tell stories of seeing red lights over the snow on Christmas Eve and her belief in Santa Claus. She wanted us to believe in the season of wonder and gift giving. She also had strict requirements to attend Christmas Day mass or midnight mass.
I wasn't aware of how my parents had to struggle financially for seven children, because every Christmas was filled with many gifts. The trees were little more than bushes cropped from a neighbor's pine , but lights and tinsel could really dress them up. Later I realized my Dad trapped for pelts to buy Christmas gifts. It was the only way he and Mom could provide the extras for us.
I suppose there were disappointing moments, but I only recall joy...except that one Christmas morning when I flew down the steps to see, under the tree, an airplane with a red remote box attached.( Back then remote control was a cord attached to a control box.) I recall pressing the fire button and sending a rubber missile into oblivion as I heard it pop against the wall. We never found it but my obsession for airplanes grew from there. (You can see the plane on the floor between Ron and our dog, Penney)
In spite of the tradition of opening Christmas presents on Christmas Day, we did one time, violate the tradition. For some reason, probably something I can't recall regarding church or a McKenna reunion, my parents decided we would open presents on Christmas Eve. We were all still true believers that Santa brought the presents while we were asleep. My Dad had to stage a Santa arrival while we were all still awake.
He couldn't create reindeer sounds or hooves on the roof so he and Mom concocted a Santa arrival by the side porch story. They said Santa would only come if we stayed upstairs while he brought in the presents. I recall some arrival by helicopter story, but that may have been another time when we lacked Christmas snow. The details are lost for me, but the sounds and the visuals are very vivid.
Dad had grown up farming with horses. The dried and stiff heavy leather harness from his youth hung on the machine shed wall. Attached to that harness was a string of jingle bells. Up to that time I don't recall seeing the jingle bells in action. That night, as we huddled upstairs ,those jingle bells created the magical sound I still associate with the season. We knew Santa had arrived, but we still had to stay upstairs!
The jingle bells rang one more time and we knew Santa had left. Mom called upstairs for us to come down. To further impress on us the truth of his arrival at our home, Dad left one visual I can still see in my memory. In the middle of the living room carpet near the Christmas tree was a large black boot print.
Santa had really been there!
Almost 30 years later Santa found us at our house in Saybrook, where I was working as principal. From the first fireplace we would own, he stepped out onto the carpet by the Christmas tree and left a big boot print for 6 year Sarah and 9 year old Scott to see, letting them know he was real!
