When I was a child Christmas was such a big production and some of us made ourselves sick with anticipation. My cousin Jo and I spent the best years of our lives together every Christmas. Her family would arrive on Christmas Eve and we would talk excitedly about everything. The biggest and best part, aside from opening presents, was the arrival of our grandparents. They lived a little over an hour away and if the weather was good they’d arrive on Christmas Eve and we’d open our presents after midnight mass. If the weather was bad, they’d arrived early Christmas morning. The weather usually cooperated and Christmas Eve was high level hyper time. Oh my God, we were delirious with joy knowing they were on their way.
Scrubbed clean, and in our new Christmas pajamas with Santas or snowmen on them, we kids were climbing the walls. Me, Jo and my brother Brandon were the oldest and one of us always stood guard by the big front window watching for that black car carrying Christmas itself. If you stood at the far right end of the big window, and looked left, you could see all the way down to Martin’s house. And we knew when the correct black car arrived because it would begin to slow down by Buddy’s house. Oh the realization that they’re here was such a rush and whoever saw them first sounded the alarm. Pandemonium ensued and we hopped and jumped and our parents had to tell us to hold still and calm down. But how could we?
Then the sound of feet stamping the snow off the boots in the entryway and the door would open and there they were! We would squeal and jump in their arms. Their noses were cold and we gave them warm kisses. The fake fur on my Grandma’s coat was coated with snow and our cheeks got wet hugging her. NOW it was really Christmas. We loved them so and they loved us to bits. It was so hard to go to bed and go to sleep. We’d leave milk and cookies and carrots and we’d tromp upstairs against our wishes. But no matter how we tried to stay awake, we never could.
After midnight mass, the grown ups would wake us and we’d fly downstairs. Oh my! You had to see our living room, piled high with gifts and it was our job to move the gifts around to make a path to the big chair for grandpa, our “Pepère” to sit and give out the presents. We would help him by bringing those presents to the others who were sitting on the outside of the room. We got so much it was unreal. Then we’d have a feast in the middle of the night and play with all our wonderful toys till the wee hours. Then we’d get up and start all over again.
When I was thirteen, our beloved Pepère died unexpectedly at the age of 59. We were devastated…and Christmas died with him. Gone were those days of anticipation and unbridled joy. Everything we loved…gone. To this day I grieve my Pepère…
And now, I sit here with my memories, wishing he’s lived long enough to see these two monkeys. Oh what delight it would have been and how he would have loved them. And he would have saved me and known what to do.
I’m so homesick…Maybe next year, there will be a real Christmas for us, with people who love us and watch for our arrival from the big front window…
Next -> The Children’s Tree
Tags: delirious, high level hyper time, midnight mass, pandemonium