Five Christmas Memories

Five Christmas memories. Some treasured, some sad, some best forgotten but for the irritating reality of memory not necessarily a selective attribute.

One) A very young memory. I'm not sure I was even in school yet. I can't even remember the name of the toy set, but it was loaded with rockets and spacemen and rubber band missile launchers, space terrain vehicles and loads of fun. Memories of lying on our cold, hardwood floors and shooting across the way at strategically placed plastic spacemen sneaks innocent smiles to my face. This moment in time stands as glorious, undefiled and pristine.

My little sister even forsook her tea set to play with me. Parents, usually concerned with toys strung about the floor like lethal foot annihilators, went about their adult-speak leaving me to soak in and connect with the creative aspects of building worlds and conflicts and solutions, albeit many of the solutions pure military strength and strategy.

While the toy set played catalyst, the true fondness of this memory lies in that aforementioned creative license. No criticism, no rules to follow limiting my play to normal parameters, simply me, in my own little world along with a little sister who would join me without hesitation. What a life!

Two) Eight years old, I cannot ever leave this Christmas Eve out, as the night went on to define me as a boy, teenager and man. Many times the ardent desire to forget this night crops up in my soul, yet without the memory and the solemn vow I made, my life would not be nearly as well forged as it remains today.

My father, a career police officer, came home late that Christmas Eve, intoxicated. His loud, word-slurring voice reverberated throughout our small house like emotional explosions, each and every one seeming to detonate in the walls of my heart. I had noted issues with alcohol and tension between my parents, but this night brought reality crashing into my little world.

I could no longer ignore the emotional atmosphere in which I lived. I'm sure more than my tears crashed the floors of our house that night, but alone in my cold room, I felt the looming presence of my future staring down at me with an accusing finger shouting, "This will be you one day!"

The vow came at the height of my pain, my tears and my violent sobs into my softest pillow. "I dedicate my life to being the complete and utter opposite of that man!" I stuck with that vow every single time I had to make a critical decision. The opposite decision-making process served me well throughout the years.

In some significant way, this Christmas I received one of the greatest gifts ever - discernment of right and wrong on an emotional level. I've never forgotten this lesson.

Three) Sharon O'Kelly. No, this is not what you think. I remember going to church on Christmas Eve or somewhere near about. The choir was putting on a Cantata. I was very young, and of course this Cantata thing sounded boring. I sat through some enjoyable Christmas music and slipped into the holiday spirit. This was not so bad. Singing and reveling in the coming birthday, I remember feeling good about the evening.

Everything changed from the first thrust of Sharon's voice. I had heard soloists before, but her tone and inflections grabbed me by the ears and jerked me forward, totally rapt and mesmerized. Oh Holy Night, sung in all its vocal range splendor cascaded around and through and in and out of my ears like sweet musical candy. Each sampled note thrilled me. Goosebumps played pyramid on my arms, and I felt I would burst.

Never have I personally witnessed such an incredible performance of this song. I've heard recordings that may have surpassed, but to be privy to listening in person was an experience everyone should get a chance to allow their ears to dance within. I hope she knows, nearly 45+ years later how much that performance moved me. Hmmm. I may just need to write a letter...

Four) Christmas in West Virginia. The days could be cold, and snow could stick around for days and weeks at times, but nothing like our more northern states. This particular Christmas the crisp December air cut at me as I assembled my new bicycle. Pink fingers and matching nose did not affect my desire to put everything in place and get out and ride.

For years I had rode a huge, over-sized bike with a pathetic round seat and handlebars that spread wide rather than upright like all my friend's bikes. This new bike was special because of the handlebars, sure, but the excitement boiled for more than merely that.

The candy blue, 'banana' seat had my heart racing for the nearest dirt mogul. I knew I could get airborne with this bike. It would out-run, out-ride and out-perform anything my friends owned. The old clunker-of-a-bike was now destined for the junkyard. I was coming out in style!

Other than that memory of my first ride, this bike faded into the grayness of barely tangible existence. I'm sure the metal has not only fallen to rust and decay, but all vestiges of there ever being such a vehicle has died with everyone but me.

Isn't that the wonder of Christmas sometimes? The gifts that made your heart soar? Even now, over forty years later, I remember how much fun it was to ride that first Christmas day. I had on my winter coat. I had on my gloves and a toboggan. I'm sure my fingers and toes and cheeks were frozen by the time I tramped back inside for warmth, but I don't remember that.

All I remember is that candy blue banana seat, the way-cool handlebars and my liberation from an embarrassing bicycle riding experience.

Five) In the 1980's I was a Wendy's store manager. I had hired hundreds and hundreds of employees over the years. Each year, I went out and purchased gifts for many of the people I had once hired. Many had gone on to other, better paying jobs, but I kept in touch with them. On Christmas Eve I would drive all over Raleigh, North Carolina and give out my gifts.

Ok, so the gifts were almost exclusively to females. I was single at the time and everyone appeared to enjoy the thought. I remember the joy I felt in being able to give a gift with no expectation of anything in return. I probably only did this three or four years. Time and life eventually overtook me.

The last year I delivered my little Santa gifts, I somehow knew I would not be doing this anymore, at least for a great while. I felt a melancholy sadness wash over me, then a slow-burning joy. The feeling of giving trumps most anything else life has to offer.

I cherished each delivery. I smiled when Deborah gave me that huge grin only she could deliver. Her sister, who just got married, accepted my gift with a hug I'll never forget. When the day was done and I was all alone, I knew for sure all the giving over the years far outweighed anything I ever received - and I loved it that way.