I was a kid TV was packed with Westerns. Like every other boy I saw Christmas as a time to load up on cowboy guns to shoot my friends with. But... hmmmm...wait a minute. That's a big subject that would require a whole post. Let me start over again.
Last minute shopping was the norm in those days. You bought most of your gifts in the week preceding Christmas. I did my kid shopping at the local hardware store but my mother liked to go to the big downtown department stores, and she'd take me with her.
The window displays there were the talk of the town. The people nearest the window were invariably kids. No kid near the glass would give up his spot voluntarily so the kid behind had to artfully nudge him aside without seeming to do it.
You did it by insinuating your shoulder into the tiny space between two kids, then a whole arm, then your body, taking care never to look at the kid you were displacing. I was good at it, but no sooner was I in than some other kid would start nudging
me aside.
Inside the store the competition for breathing space was fierce. The squeeze was so great and the air so foul that sometimes I had to fight to stay conscious.
On Christmas Eve night we'd decorate the tree. The rule was: do everything in excess. Cover the tree with tinsel and balls til the poor, drooping tree was covered with sentimental spaghetti. Of course we used the biggest, heaviest, fire-prone lights we could find, the kind that are called "outdoor lights" now. A few people used the tiny lights but they were regarded as mavericks and misfits.
After the tree was decorated we'd get on our coats and walk around the neighborhood looking at our neighbors' lawn decorations. Some people covered their houses with lights. That seems a bit gaudy to me now, but at the time I thought it was the height that beauty could reach. I was awed.
Back at home we listened to soulful Christmas carols or watched variety shows where the celebrity host would take you home to meet his family.
Finally it was time to go to bed, and that's when the stockings were hung. Mine was usually a knitted cloth stocking that was criss-crossed with pesky fibers inside.
Parents liked to stuff stockings with oranges and chocolate coins but on a good year you'd find a Chinese finger trap and a back scratcher. If you were really lucky you might get an Adam's magic trick, like the cup and ball or the sliding drawer that made nickels disappear.
Even going to bed was special on Christmas Eve. My mother would put on starched sheets and take extra care in tucking me in. The rest of the year I'd cringe under the blankets fearing monsters from the closet, but not on this night. On Christmas Eve night I'd lay in the dark listening for the arrival of Santa, ready to stay up all night if necessary. I probably fell asleep within ten minutes.
Aaaargh! I'm too sleepy to continue.
Merry Christmas Everybody!
