Christmas has always been big with my family. My grandparents became the matriarch and patriarch of the extended family once the grandchildren started arriving. Their big house could hold us all, and there was always a magnificent tree, gaily decorated with ornaments, lights, and lots of tinsel. The tradition of the decorated tree carried over to the little cottage we lived in, across the way from my grandparents’ house.
I was only six days old on my first Christmas and so I can only enjoy memories of it through the pictures Mom passed along to me. Here my beloved Grandma holds me in front of her beautiful tree. I’m sure because I was so new, I got passed around to all the aunts and uncles. I believe the picture was taken on Christmas Day and we were all at my grandparents’ house to have dinner after church.
I have only one vague memory of the following Christmas, 1955. I was only a year old, so I don’t remember my surprise at finding a stocking hanging in my crib. I do remember that stocking because I had it throughout most of my childhood. When my brother and I were old enough to start waking my parents before the crack of dawn, they had the brilliant idea to allow us to open all our stocking presents on our own. Opening and playing with whatever little toys were inside and eating the little snacks (apples, oranges) kept us busy and fed until the sun came up. By the time we were bored with the stocking, my parents were more inclined to let us wake them up.
My parents struggled financially and would sometimes accept help from family. For example, my grandfather was a skilled fisherman and would often provide us with part of his catch. In other cases, however, my parents were too proud to take help offered. One year, I got a Campbell’s soup doll for Christmas. I loved her and treated her as all little girls treat their baby dolls. I had a little rocking chair and would rock my baby to sleep.
Years later, my mom confided that my parents felt guilty that year, 1957, when I was 3. They were so broke they couldn’t afford gifts and refused to take any present money from my grandparents or other family. They ate a lot of Campbell’s soup and saved a bunch of labels to send to the company. In return, Campbell’s sent their mascot, the little girl doll. Mom thought I was so sad that year because Susie (my name for her) was the only toy I received. My grandparents, aunts and uncles all gave me clothes and other things I’d need.
I was very surprised when Mom told me that. My memory is how much I loved Susie and enjoyed playing with her. It occurs to me now that too many toys all at once isn’t such a great idea. I remember years when there were lots and lots of presents. It was almost overwhelming, and I didn’t get as much of a connection to Chatty Cathy as I had had with Susie. I wonder what my kids thought of all the presents they opened and if they felt any emotional connection to the toys. I’ll have to ask them.
One year, Grandma gave me a stuffed cat that she’d handmade. Because it was especially for me, I loved Meow as strongly as I’d loved Susie. I wish I had a picture of me with Meow but if it ever existed it’s gone now. The memory is there though: a soft little pink kitty made with corduroy fabric, stuffed with something soft and comforting. Meow had little black eyes, a little black nose, and a happy smile on her face. The original Meow was ruined from a spill of hot wax, and I grieved so much that Grandma made me a new one. Meow II was similar but just not the same.
I seem to love most gifts from the heart, whether they are handmade or given free by saving soup labels. Nice memories.
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