As I reflect upon past Christmases, there are so many things I could talk about—favorite cookies (which are the Peanut Butter Cookies with the Hershey’s Kisses, by the way. Especially when I serve them on the tray my grandfather made for my grandmother), the music, the traditions, and the Christmas tree adorned with ornaments, each carrying a tale of its own.
When I moved out of my parent’s house, my mother handed me her box of Christmas ornaments. It wasn’t a family secret that although they loved Christmas, the only reason they did the “tree thing” was because I was there. With me living on my own, we all knew they wouldn’t go out and buy a tree, much less decorate it. Of course, this makes me sad, but it’s their choice. Plus, that just meant I got all the ornaments I grew up with. *insert slightly evil laugh
Each year, I open up the box and watch the girls place all the ornaments I did growing up. Ones like a humble McDonald’s Happy Meal reindeer (yes, you read that right, a Happy Meal toy from McDonalds is on my tree) from 1985 and a handmade mailbox I purchased from a school fundraiser when I was in the 4th grade. The school librarian made a bunch, and I fell in love with it the minute I saw it. I have no idea why a kid of just 9/10 would want such a thing, but I did, and I’m glad I did because I still have it today.
Around them are also the ornaments my mother made when she and my father were newlyweds, and they were living off my father’s modest army wages. Every handmade stitch of that stocking symbolized not just the scarcity of those days but the richness of the season, love, and hope in the face of struggles. They didn’t care they were handmade; in fact, I think it makes them more special. Not to mention, they are adorable, like a jolly snowman with a perpetually cheerful grin, a rosy-cheeked Mrs. Claus, an industrious elf dressed in green, a gleaming Christmas bell, a sweet candy cane, and a charming stocking—all created with her imagination.
And, of course, I can’t forget my own creation! A simple styrofoam star with a ribbon and sticker I glued on in the third grade. I don’t know how long styrofoam lasts, but it better last longer than me, for if anything ever happens to the thing, I’ll be crushed.
I’m sure this story seems like a ramble, but I had to share it anyway. I always love this time of year when I can revisit past Christmases with my ornaments and dwell in the simple joys that remain eternally cherished in the heart.
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