Christmas Memories

Christmas memories are like the giant oak trees I have come to love in my 13 years as a Floridian; they are indescribably beautiful and last forever.  Here, in no particular order, are some memories that are rooted in my heart.

• My father placing a blinking red lantern in the fork of a tree to alert me to the coming of Santa Claus, and later stomping around on the roof above my bedroom on a snowy night.  One year he fell off the roof into the snow-capped hedges and my older brother, Harold, had to rescue him.

• Putting the final touches on our tree with silver icicles while mom played carols on her accordion, an instrument that came out of the case only once a year.

• Cutting down our Christmas tree from a tiny parcel of land on Bond Avenue, owned by a kind old man in a flannel hat, and continuing the tradition on my own as a teenager at Mr. Helt's tree farm outside of town.  I came home every year with a tree sticking way out of the trunk of my yellow Mustang, and my mother told me it was the best tree ever.  Every year.

• Enjoying chocolate cakes from the EZ Bake Oven I received for Christmas, until my pals Dave McGuinn and Joe Fansler found out and held court about it on the playground.  I went home and baked another cake.

• Purchasing pink mittens with mom and delivering them, in person, to a very small Lori Manley, on whom I had a very big crush.

• Reluctantly leaving my toys at home on Christmas night, but quickly shifting my attention to comparing notes with cousins Peggy, Marty, Keith, Steve, and Elizabeth at family gatherings.  There were others I loved and enjoyed who were older and younger than me.

• Playing pool on a lopsided table in the semi-finished basement of my cousin Butchie's house in Lafayette and returning home asleep in the car.

• Marching in the Christmas Parade with the Marion Highsteppers drum and baton corps, and later as a DeMolay unicycle clown.

• Going "Christmas lighting" in the back seat of my dad's Oldsmobile, starting out in the affluent Shady Hills subdivision and, for whatever reason, ending up out in the frozen-over corn fields with no sign of lighting anywhere, other than the red blinkers on the radio towers.  Later my dad purchased a used Econoline van as we expanded the trip to include my wife, Teresa, and nephews, Brad and Ryan.

• Decorating the Chrismon Tree at the Christy Street Church.  Crunching over the rock salt on the icy steps, and hearing the floor creak just inside the door.

• Knowing for sure that my brother, Harold, would elbow me in the rib cage every time we sang Hark the "Harold" Angels Sing at church.  Why were there no songs about Vance? he teased.

• The Snoopy reindeer ornament my sister bought for me at Lloyd's Flowers and Gifts  after something sad had happened to me at home.  That ornament was Super-Glued to the star position on the tiny tree in my first studio apartment, and still has a home on our tree to this day.

• Watching Teresa turn our tree into a work of art every year while I procrastinate over the outside decorations.

• Playing a rather gaunt Santa Claus in our high-school Christmas musical.  I could say a nasally "Mamma" just like the Santa in Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

• The Whitehall tiger-eye drum set in the window at Butler's Music Store, and, years later, the amber Ludwig Vistalite set in the same window.  Both wound up under my tree, and the Ludwigs are still in my possession.

• Watching the horizontal snow in the headlights on my county drive to Gas City every Christmas Eve to enjoy midnight church with my friend, Mike Batton, and his family.  On my last visit before moving away, his mother, Sue, cried on my shoulder during the candle lighting.

• Mom's oyster stew made from very large oysters brought to our home each year from a local restaurant owner in exchange for my mom's help with filling out his taxes.

• Licking the hot spoon and beaters from my mom's fudge bowl, and watching her delight everyone with a canister-full, including my buddy, Stew, and all of the hard-working guys down at Runyon's gas station.  Those guys would brave any elements to rescue my mom from a snow bank or dead battery, and at no charge.

• Remembering distinctly the year my interest switched from toy presents to clothing and cologne.  There were girls to thank for that.

• Learning how to sip Southern Comfort illegally but always safely in the holiday-lit house trailer of my sister, Carol, and brother-in-law, Dennis, near the old Idlewyld roller rink.

• Eating Pizza King with all of the Millen kids (adults) across the alley who were home for the holidays like me.

• Getting up at 5:30 a.m. on Christmas mornings so we could be at my brother Harold's house in time for him and his wife, Vickie, to get everything set for the waking of his little boys. This went on for about a decade, even after my brother's passing and the boys were older, but I could always imagine him scrambling around like a jumpy Irish Setter.  His blood and spirit run through my Christmas heart.

• Doing a double-take at the River Walkway manger scene and wondering why there were four wisemen, only to realize that my buddy, Stew, had jumped out of the back seat and was posing with the three polymer guys from the East.

• Playing holiday easy listening music in the one-man studio of WMRI during the overnight shift with snow coming down in the streetlight outside.  Mom sent me to work with a 10-inch Christmas tree to put on the console and a can of fudge.

• Well into my 30's, while on Christmas break in my home town, looking forward to having a beer with my buddies Stew, Dana, Grant and Rodney.  Rodney always stopped by in his police car and uniform and just had to see the old VHS tape of my dad getting a bad paper cut while opening a Christmas present and yelling "Oh God Damn" at the top of his lungs with adults and children sitting around the tree.  It is a classic.

• Watching my always appreciative mother open the same present from my dad every year.  "Oh, look... an Estee Lauder gift set," she'd say.  The first year after she passed away, and the poor guy had no idea what to do, he bought everyone a card, put some cash inside and handed them out as we were knocking the snow off our boots at the door.

• Reclining in my drafty Connecticut living room on the first Christmas after Samuel was born, with him asleep on my chest.  It was on this night that I adopted "A Cradle in Bethlehem" as my favorite Christmas song.

• Learning that Teresa and I, and later our boys, had family we never knew existed in Connecticut.  They now live in Michigan and have shared every up and down in our lives.  We love Ron, Mary, Aimee, Erin, Amelia and Mel.

• Visiting New York City each year while living in the Northeast and realizing that the magic on TV exists in real life.  One year Teresa and I had dinner at the now-closed Home restaurant, outside under a heat lamp with snow falling all around us.

• The entire Christmas day that baby Noah ran around our Dallas house in surgeon scrubs and a toy stethoscope, listening to everybody's hearts and saying "sounds pretty good."  Watching my mother-in-law, Carol, howl each time he did it.

• Watching Samuel play along with us about Santa in the years after he learned the truth that Noah didn't yet know.

• The tradition of having family-style Italian food with my team at CSX, including the year that the restaurant kitchen caught fire and mask-wearing first-responders were coming in and out of the smoke-filled dining room while we just kept passing our plates.  This broke every stringent safety rule of our employer.

• Always waiting until Christmas Eve to shop for Teresa and standing over what was left of the merchandise at Victoria Secret with the other slugs in their camo jackets and backward ball caps asking stupid questions like, "Excuse me miss, but my wife is about your size; would that be a medium?"

• Biscuits and chipped-beef gravy prepared every year by my father in law, Dale.  (Only two days away!)

Vance Meyer is a former corporate communication and marketing professional whose blog, myTMI, contains short stories about his life which he hopes that his boys, Samuel and Noah, will enjoy in their later years.