Christmas Memories

‘The Big Christmas’ and the memories I will cherish forever

By Mary Schott

I remember “The Big Christmas.” It was probably 1962, or so. My oldest brothers would have been about to leave the nest, which explains some of the gifts received.

We were a typical large, poor Catholic family of the sixties, six sons and one daughter.

Every year, we each received the requisite large box of essentials: underwear, socks, night clothes, a summer outfit, a winter outfit, a coat or jacket if we needed it, etc.

We looked forward to “the box,” knowing we’d be wearing much of our new stuff to church in just a couple of hours. Midnight Mass and a large breakfast afterward were absolutely scrumptious. It was a ritual we relished.

As we all grew older, the mound of presents under the tree grew larger, as we each began to have purchasing power and bought a little something for one another. It was fun seeing what my big brothers would think of to shower “little sister” with. Somehow, I think Mom had a hand in that.

Expecting little but cherishing what we got intensely, we were wide-eyed surprised when that December a “curtain” appeared before the front room. No one was allowed to enter it until Christmas Eve. We had been used to watching everything progress as the countdown to the 24th continued. Not this year! Everything was secretive. The room was off limits, and to enter would have brought shame.

Finally, that anticipated night arrived. After Dad had eaten and washed from a long day at work, the 9 p.m. gathering occurred. Wow! The blanket draped across the room’s entryway was pulled back, and a mound of new, fun stuff I had never see in our home before magically appeared.

There were scooters and bikes and sleds, suitcases and briefcases. We were astounded! So much stuff, unwrapped, shiny and new. We’d never seen anything like it. We were absolutely awed.

After the initial shock of it subsided and it was pointed out what was for whom, we settled into the routine of Dad’s performance as “the man,” our very own “Santa,” who read the tags on each of the gifts and summarily handed them out. An older brother who had earlier bought a stereo put on a Christmas album and all seemed serene.

It’s hard to imagine or appreciate what our folks went through to put all of that on for us. I only know that whatever their hardships, they pulled through, worked together and made the impossible happen for us every year.

For those memories and the good life they gave us, I am grateful.
 

(Mary Schott is a member of Good Shepherd Parish in Indianapolis.) †