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Lessons learned at Christmastime

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Contributed by: Gene Boshell on 12/3/2007

I don't have a notable Christmas story; I have years of them. Some are good memories; some are really good memories; and some are bittersweet, but sweet nonetheless.

My first Christmas was in 1968; I was almost 3 months old. My parents have the memory of that Christmas; I can find the pictures in the "Big Picture Book" at their house.

I can't really remember when I started remembering Christmas. Was it the year I got the bicycle? Was it the year that I got the Stretch Armstrong? Was it the year that we got our first color TV? I don't know. Those are all material things that I remember from various Christmases, but those are not what really made Christmas memories for me.

The memories that are important to me (naughty & nice) are interwoven into a heavy, thick tapestry that transcends time and provides a safe, warm place to call Home. They are ... well, I was going to say that they are what I miss about Christmases past, but I can feel them in me and I know that those memories are how I define Christmas even today.

From here and now I can see how my parents were often able to just make ends meet. I never had any clue of that back then; they made every day (especially Christmas) special. I got a stereo one year; my dad got a new hammer and my mom got a box of cheap bath powder (although it was her favorite fragrance). I got a Commodore 64 another year; my dad got a shirt and my mom got something for the kitchen (that she sent my dad out with my sister and me to buy "for her"). From here I can see the lesson of sacrifice that they modeled for me.

I can remember that after an aunt and uncle divorced there were a few years that my aunt would call after dark on Christmas Eve crying because "he did it again." Her ex-husband, who swore he would be by with gifts for their 3 kids would have called drunk-as-a-skunk and said that he wasn't coming over. My parents tried to hide it the first year it happened, but they went under our tree and pulled out gifts (my sister's and mine) for our cousins (two boys and one girl). My sister and I both pretended that first year to not notice. In subsequent years we would actually go and help in the culling process. "Don't cry, Mom ... ' It's the thought that counts.' " From there I can see the lesson of selflessness.

Christmas Day was always a big affair. My mom was raised on a farm in really rural Alabama (as opposed to rural Alabama where I was raised). Most Sundays all of "The Kids" (my mom and her 7 siblings plus my cousins) would congregate by 1 pm for lunch and general family-time. Christmas was major by even those standards. All of my aunts had their specialty: my Aunt Lynda is an all-around good cook who was in command of the main and side dishes; my mom is the Goddess of Baked Goods; my Aunt Joyce is the Queen of Confections. Aunt Joyce would always make peppermint candies for everyone... but she would make a special batch for herself and me with extra peppermint in them. Our batch is back on the deep-freeze. Each of those three sisters provided for the whole, but each, as well, would attend to extras that were the favorite of some others in the clan. From there I learned the lesson of Take time to make it special.

There were no outsiders at my grandparents' house, even on "family days." Everyone was family; everyone was welcome. Relatives of in-laws who were in town weren't accepted at the gatherings, they were expected. Friends and neighbors of the representative households who thought they had no place to go for Christmas found out that they did indeed have a place. I saw many people awkwardly walk up the steps to that old farmhouse for the first time. They always left, though, as one of us. Households became family that spilled into Community and then into the world at large.

One of the highlights of Christmas Day at Pawpaw & Granny's House (my mom's parents) was opening gifts. A month or so earlier (Thanksgiving to be exact) we would have drawn names for gifts. The adults' names were in one hat and the kids' in another ... nobody knew who drew whose name until gift opening. Pawpaw was always the one to pass out the gifts one-by-one and everyone would Oooh and Aaah at what was revealed. The smaller kids, who always got theirs first, would be crowded around Pawpaw's feet at the tree (a real cedar from somewhere on the farm). It was very hard the year he was too sick to hand-out the gifts. Most of us went to sit beside him to open our gifts that year. 1987 was even harder when he wasn't there to go to. The lesson: Cherish what you have; nothing is forever.

Since then that last lesson has been "re-taught" a few times. First was when Granny wasn't there anymore. Next my cousin, Jeff (the oldest of my cousins) wasn't there. This year Uncle Preston (my mom's youngest sibling) won't be there. Eventually my parents will join that innumerable caravan, as will I. What will remain, though, is the knowing that no matter how far we spread; no matter who is living; no matter who is cross with whom ... we're Family and it's Christmastime.

There is a song that beckons " Let there be peace on Earth ..." That's a noble ideal. My wish, however, is "Let there be love on Earth." As I see it, peace (and all else noble and good) can not resist rising in that wake.

Having said all this, it's time for my stinker story ... one that still manages to mildly chagrin my sister when it's retold. One year when I was in my mid-teens and my sister was in her early teens, she approached me and offered "I'll tell you what you're getting for Christmas if you tell me what I'm getting." I thought about it for a moment, then agreed, adding "You first." She relayed to me everything that she knew about so far as what I was to be receiving that year. "OK ... now what am I getting?" My reply was, "A whole bunch of surprises! You don't really expect me to spoil Christmas for you, do you?!?" Of course she went straight to our mom and told her everything just as it had happened. Mom's reply: "Serves you right for suggesting such a thing." Then, looking at me, "But it better not happen again." I don't really have a lesson here, but if I must force one I'll say Don't make deals with the Devil ... or a devilish brother.

Happy Holidays!

Love (and I do mean that),

Gene

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Showing 1-3 of 3 comments

Submitted By: Karin Malchow

posted on 12/5/2007 @ 4:09:51 PM

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Thanks. I needed a story to put me in the Christmas spirit.

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Submitted By: J Bradburn

posted on 12/5/2007 @ 10:28:26 AM

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Thanks for a great story.

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Submitted By: Katherine Jerome

posted on 12/4/2007 @ 5:51:21 PM

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Thanks for sharing your memories Gene. I spent lots of time in the kitchen during Christmas baking cookies and making all sorts of candies. I can't wait till my grandaughter makes Gingerbread Kids with me! Happy Holidays!

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CONTRIBUTOR INFORMATION

Gene Boshell

Lakewood , CO

Gene Boshell has posted 4 stories and 5 comments since joining on 1/6/2007. Gene Boshell 's average story rating is 5.

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