Readers share their favorite Christmas memories

  • Compiled by Andrea Brown Herald Writer
  • Wednesday, December 24, 2014 9:08am
  • Life

Black licorice and spy novels. A trip to the emergency room for 22 stitches. A little girl’s dream coat that cost her dad a lot of overtime. A Chia pet. A picnic. A poem.

Readers share an important gift, a gift that never fades, breaks or gets tossed aside: the gift of words.

***

I was born and lived in the wild winds of Casper, Wyoming. It was Christmas Eve, 1941, when I was 5 years old. My grandmother’s house was decorated all in blue lights, all reflecting off the new fallen snow. It was magic. We went to church first, and this year we went to a fancy restaurant for dinner. It had live music and a full orchestra. The ballroom had large balls of twinkling lights twirling and sparkling across the dance floor. My father took me out to the dance floor and we danced and danced. At first my feet were on his toes, later I was able to follow him. It was such a special time and I felt so grown up in the new dress my mother had made for me and my new patent leather black shoes. There is a song titled “Dance with My Father” and every time I hear it, I think of that special time with him. I am 78 now and my father is on another journey to the great beyond. I still see it all in my mind’s way back then, and I still love to dance.

— Sherry Bonnett, Camano Island

***

My best Christmas was in 1954. We were a family of nine. My dad asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I said, “Oh, what I want can wait because you and mom can’t afford it.” Dad said, “What is it?” I said, “There’s a coat at Rhodes in Seattle, but it’s $59.” Our rent was only $100 a month then. When I got up on Christmas morning and saw that coat I cried all day. I know my dad worked many overtime hours to get it for me. Rest in peace, Daddy. Thank you. I love you.

— Shirley Fecteau, Monroe

***

If I could choose just one holiday to remember, it would be Christmas of 2012. I have a large family and, like every year, we gathered at my parents’ house in Snohomish. I can smell the turkey cooking in my mom’s oven, I can see the assortment of Christmas cookies on the table, the large grand tree in the living room and the gifts piled high to the ceiling for the nine grandkids in addition to gifts for all the adults. Best of all, I can see clearly my 81-year-old father in the corner with a big smile on his face unwrapping the fifth bag of black licorice and the third spy novel … his favorites! The look on his face was one of peace and total contentment from a man who had seen many Christmases and played a loving and crucial role in a household of all women (he and my mother had five girls). I remember this moment and his face clearly because this was his last Christmas. That night, he went into the hospital and died on New Year’s Eve from complications from pneumonia. I am forever blessed with thoughts of that Christmas, because none of us knew it would be Dad’s last, and that was a gift unto itself, so we could enjoy the holiday, as one big, loud, happy family … as always.

— Jennifer (Grossguth) Zill, Stanwood

***

It’s the thought that counts. That sword cuts both ways. The worst gift I ever received came from a co-worker. We were two elite secretaries at a world-renowned company. Besides similar backgrounds, we both shopped at Nordstrom, had our nails done at Gene Juarez, drove nice cars. I thought we were good friends. One Christmas I gave her a $25 set of padded satin coat hangers. She gave me a Chia pet. Shocked, I suddenly realized she didn’t like me as much as I liked her. Chia pet went into the garbage. Sadly, our working relationship changed to strictly business after that.

— PJ Snyder, Everett

***

It was Christmastime in Everett, 1958. Downtown was like the set of a Lifetime Channel Christmas movie with the Bon Marche’s Santa in the window welcoming children, and up the street at J.C. Penney, window displays of snow, Lionel trains winding around decorated trees and their own Santa, too. If you know the words to “Silver Bells” … that was Everett in the waning 1950s.

I was a 7-year-old boy with big hopes from Santa that year. Hula hoops and air rifles were high on kids’ lists, but as a youngster who had mastered a two-wheeled bicycle that summer, I had my heart set on a shiny new Schwinn under the tree Christmas morning. As was always the case, Santa didn’t disappoint. I still remember the smell of new bicycle tires as I raced from my bedroom and into the living room that morning. There sat two beautiful new bikes under the tree: one for me and the other for my older sister. I think we took enough time to throw on some clothes and headed out to the sidewalk in front of our house with our new bikes. She headed up the street first with me not far behind.

The street had a slight incline making it a bit of a job peddling up, but oh-so-sweet on the way back down! Sister was first to start the downward descent with me right behind her … as it would turn out, I was probably a little too close behind. When she reached the front of the house, she (for some unexplained reason) stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. I had to sharply veer to the left and off the sidewalk heading directly toward the back of a milk delivery truck. In those days milk was delivered to homes even on Christmas Day.

The last thing I remember was sliding under the rear of the truck with my chin catching the corner of its license plate. Mom called Dr. Mincks away from his family’s Christmas morning to meet us at the ER for 22 stitches in my chin. I remember the numbness in my chin and the feeling of the stitches being made … but no pain. I spent the rest of the day on the sofa with aunts, uncles and cousins coming by to offer their sympathy. To this day when shaving I can still see the slight scar in this nearly 64-year-old chin.

— Peter Scheldt, McEwen, Tennessee

***

We had Christmas early one year because my husband flew to Dallas to spend the holiday with his sister. After my sister and I put him on a Christmas Eve flight we made plans for Christmas Day. A picnic sounded good.

We convinced Mom and Dad to go, and packed up cocoa, soup and sandwiches and headed to Stevens Pass. We stopped at Money Creek campground, found a table with no snow and set out our lunch. The spoons were freezing and the food cooled off fast. But we had our Christmas picnic.

One year my mother asked me to meet her in the basement to try on a blouse she was giving my sister Maureen for Christmas. We were about the same size. After Christmas I found out she had done the same with my sister saying the blouse was for me. She had us try on our own presents!

— Pat Overturff, Everett

***

When my granddaughter, Ondia Sheets, was 13, right after Thanksgiving she began a “Feed the Homeless Drive” at her school. She accepted cash donations and had a donation box for blankets, coats, gloves and hats. It became a real community effort. McDonald’s lent us large servers to use to dispense the coffee, Heartland Interiors of Country Village lent us a van to use to deliver on Christmas day, and Franz outlet store either gave us bread to make sandwiches or let her have bread at a greatly reduced cost. She was able to collect enough cash to purchase sandwich bags, peanut butter, jelly, fruit and cookies. Then, on Christmas Eve day, a group of 10 volunteers (friends and teachers) would sort the clothes and prepare the lunches. Each year, we were able to make 110 lunches. Then, on Christmas Day, a caravan of the donated van and our station wagon and some volunteers’ personal vehicles would head to Seattle to Occidental Square.

As soon as we arrived, the homeless found us. We were all involved with this for about five years. This always made our Christmas very special and we are so proud of our granddaughter for conceiving the idea and carrying it through.

One year, her 4-year-old sister Sarah had asked Santa for a particular robot toy and had gotten it in her stocking Christmas morning. When we arrived at Occidental Square, she saw a young boy and his mother who were homeless. Sarah was very concerned the little boy would have no presents and gave him her new toy. Then she sat in the van and cried. A homeless man had seen this whole exchange and, taking out a pocket knife, carved a Styrofoam cup like it was the finest lace and gave it to her. She still treasures that cup. We still all think of those magic Christmas days when we fed the homeless.

— Suzanne Rian, Bothell

***

In October, 1975, I was 14 years old and we had just lost my older brother who was 16 years old to cancer. My mom was raising all of us kids by herself. There were five of us and I knew my mom didn’t have much money for Christmas presents. There was only one thing I wanted: a stereo to play 45s and LPs. I always loved music. I dreamed of the music I could play and sing and dance, like a real singer. That Christmas was sad with not much joy because of our grief. I noticed the all others got a present but me. I thought there was no money for what I wanted. It cost too much money, I told myself. Finally my mom brought out this big box. I opened it and there it as: my stereo. I cried because I knew how hard it was for my mom to save. I will always be grateful to Mom. I finally found out years later my mom put my stereo on layaway and paid a little every two weeks.

— Julie Montgomery, Everett

***

Sometime around Christmas, I will again join thousands of citizen scientists across the Americas to count the birds we see and hear during Audubon’s Christmas Bird Count. I bundle up in layers of fleece and down with warm boots, gloves and hat. I meet my fellow birders at the crack of dawn as we head out to scour the landscape looking for resident birds and, hopefully, a surprise or two. At the end of the day, we gather for a potluck and share the day’s highlights, tired but happy knowing that the Christmas spirit includes concern for wildlife.

— Kathleen Snyder, Everett

***

I grew up on a farm in eastern Pennsylvania during the Great Depression. I was the only girl with three brothers. Every year just after Thanksgiving the boys’ big train set was put up and my doll house was then put out. These were taken down and put away after New Year’s Day.

In 1937 or 1938 my doll house was not put out as usual. I could not get an explanation and I was very upset. On Christmas morning I found a brand new, larger doll house (obviously a gift from my grandparents since they were the only ones in the family with money and we were their only grandchildren). I remember still feeling upset that no one had clued me in as to why my old doll house was not put out. Then I learned that it had been given to a little girl about three miles down County Line Road. This family consisted of five children: four boys and the 6-year-old girl. The parents had died and the teenaged boys were trying to keep the family together by working the farm. The house had no electricity so the doll house had been refitted to have its lights run from a battery. This was her only Christmas gift, there would have been none for her without it. I do not know if the community found gifts for the boys or not, no one ever told me that.

— Marie Bond, Everett

***

When I was growing up my family used to go door-to-door caroling throughout my home town of Eugene, Oregon. There were enough of us that we could manage a rousing four-part harmony and people were so nice! Many would invite us in for more music, hot chocolate or cider, fresh cookies, and sometimes nothing more than good conversation. It’s one of my favorite memories of my childhood.

— Renee Radcliff Sinclair, Lynnwood

***

It seems like I’ve lived in Washington for all my life. My wife reminded me that we moved here 23 years ago.

It was about our third year of living in Everett that I became acquainted with an energetic young lady who was recruiting volunteers to “staff” a local charity “store.” We were still new to the area, and I thought that this would be a great way to get to know the community. So I signed up my wife and three young daughters to help.

We were given the date and the place for which we would be volunteering. So with smiles on our faces and songs in our heart, we drove to an old, somewhat rundown strip mall which was located across from the back of the Everett Mall.

Upon arrival, we looked at the place where we would be helping and then looked at each other. “Dad! Are you sure that this is the right place?” I looked at the volunteer sheet and, sure enough, this was the right place. A storefront that looked as if it had been deserted for several years. We went inside, introduced ourselves to one of the volunteer coordinators, and she immediately put us to work. My girls looked at me with one of those what-did-you-get-us-into looks, but marched ahead with their assigned job for the day.

The store was filled with makeshift tables filled with gently used and new toys and warm clothes. The merchandise was provided at no charge to folks in need. These items would comprise the gifts that would fill an otherwise empty space under the Christmas tree. In the aisles were several happy and appreciative shoppers, making the rounds to find gifts for their child. As they pushed their shopping carts, I could see that they were finding just what was needed for their special someone. I didn’t see any disappointed faces as they left the store.

The buckets placed to catch the leaks, the musty smell, the peeling Sheetrock and the missing floor tiles just seemed to disappear as we watched the busy shoppers getting that thing that would bring a smile to the heart of their child. A gift that would bring laughter and joy to many happy faces on Christmas morning. That was 20 years ago and that loving organization is Christmas House, which is still delivering the true message of Christmas today. God Bless you Christmas House and God Bless those who selflessly give so a child can have a very Merry Christmas.

— Barry Kinyon, Marysville

***

“Christmas at Momma T’s”

We rarely call, we never write.

But as we gather this Christmas night,

let’s remember the one’s that used to be.

At mother’s house, on Christmas Eve.

Uncles, aunts, brothers, sisters and cousins.

Nephews and nieces, grandkids by the dozen.

Food’s on the table, gifts under the tree.

We’re all ready! Where’s Momma-T?

She’s still in the kitchen a huffin’ and puffin’.

Once again she’s forgotten the muffins.

They’re a little well done, but that’s OK,

“Bring ‘em on in, there’s a blessin’ to say!”

Mashed potatoes and gravy, roast turkey and ham,

green beans with onions, marshmallows on yams.

Linda’s strawberry Jello was always a treat,

“Come on everybody! Dig in! Let’s eat!”

“Whoo! I’m stuffed.” “Can’t eat one more bite.”

“It hurts to bend over.” “My pants are so tight!”

Dinner’s over for now, we’ll have dessert later.

Let’s all gather ‘round, it’s time to tear paper!

“Open only one present, that’s the limit tonight.”

“Oh, c’mon Big Daddy, that’s just not right!

Two would be better, maybe even three,

Santa needs more room to get under that tree!”

“Now before y’all leave, or head off to bed,

there’s Karo pecan pie and cranberry nut bread.”

Mother made ‘em herself, she was sure a good cook

and if you need any proof, just give our waistlines a look.

It’s been a few years now since we’ve all been together.

We’re spread like the wind in a stretch of bad weather.

Linda’s in Florida and I’m near Seattle.

Everyone else, somewhere in the middle.

Geography shouldn’t keep us so dang far apart.

Let’s gather for Christmas once again … in our hearts.

— John Foules, Stanwood

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