My Earliest Christmas Memories
Posted: Wednesday, December 14, 2011
by John Waddey
firstcenturychristian
My earliest recollection of Christmas was in my fourth year. It was 1942 and the Great War was raging. My parents were young and living on a meager salary but they wanted their firstborn to have a wonderful Christmas. I cannot be sure, but on one of my early Christmas Days we had snow. That is a rare treat in the Southland. I remember looking out the window as the fluffy flakes wafted down and covered the ground.
A couple of weeks prior to the big day, my mom helped me write my letter to Santa. I remember wanting to give it to the postman, but Mom explained that the fastest way was to put the letter in the warm-morning stove that heated our home and it would go up in the smoke to Santa’s workshop. I confess it took some convincing for me to go along with her theory. Another thing that really troubled me was how Santa could get into our home. We had a chimney, but rather than a fireplace we had that stove with the long pipe plugged into our chimney. My question was how could Santa possibly get in through that? The solution was, they would leave the front door unlocked so he could have easy access to our tree.
Then there was that special trip to town with my mom so we could actually see a real McCoy Santa. Since we had no car, we rode the city bus into town. To find the best bargains Mom visited numerous stores, all of which had Santas. Now that really confused me. But as moms are renowned problem-solvers, mine explained that actually those were his helpers. The real Santa was at work in the North Pole, getting ready for his big trip. At last I got in the line at Castner-Knott’s Department Store. There on a throne-like chair sat the grand old man. I forgot about helpers and waited anxiously to give him my wish list. I confess that I was a bit impatient with those little folks who cried or who took so long to talk to the Man.
Then came the long days of waiting. It seemed they would never end. To make matters worse, every time I broke the house rules I was reminded that Santa only came to see good little boys who obeyed their parents. It was like a club held over my head. Mom and I would sing all the Christmas songs. I remember Santa Claus is Coming to Town and Down Through the Chimney Came Good St. Nick. Over and over she would tell me the story of the bearded Old Man with the red suit, trimmed with white fur and those eight reindeer. (Rudolph had not been discovered at that time).
Finally Christmas Eve arrived. I was so wound-up I could hardly contain myself. My parents insisted that I must go to bed early. But how could a little guy sleep on such a momentous night? I tossed and turned and wiggled and squirmed till finally the Sand Man found me.
Sometime in the darkest hours of night Santa must have slipped in the front door because when I awoke at about 4:00 a.m. and hit the floor, there before my sleepy eyes were wonderful gifts for me. I remember a small toy airplane and most impressive of all was a toy machine gun just like that used by our soldier boys in the war. It was painted olive green and had a cranking device on the side. When you turned that it popped just like a real gun. (Political correctness had not yet robbed children of the fun of such things). Immediately I took my position as a good fighting man, aimed my gun and let the bullets fly...pop, pop, pop. It was loud, so loud that my parents leaped from the bed and insisted that I stop that and get back into bed that very minute. Boy was it hard to lay there another three hours until my parents were ready to get up.
Looking back, I remember that all the presents were for me. Of course, I did not understand that a young couple with a child, were struggling to survive on a very small salary. They chose to forego gifts for themselves so their little "Cotton Top" could have a really nice Christmas.
We had a tasty breakfast of sausage, eggs and hot biscuits (Our regular fare for special days) and then later in the afternoon there was our Christmas dinner. It was nothing like we had in later years, but it was great for me. Later we visited an aunt and uncle whose large house was filled with all the kinfolks from my Dad’s side of the family. Now that was some more celebration. There was music and singing and lots of conversation. By the time we finally got home, little Johnny was long since ready for bed.
I find it amazing how our minds can store up so many memories from the past. But they are special treasures that I hope I never forget.
John Waddey
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