Scenes Of Christmas Past (By Casey)

I always woke up sometime between 3:30 and 4:30 am.  Luckily, Santa had already stuffed my stocking that was hanging at the foot of my bed with plenty of toys to keep me entertained before the pre-determined awakening time of 6:00.  I usually got a lot of candy (chocolate, of course), some kind of funky magic trick or skill-related toys, and the small box of legos that would usually come with a couple of little lego men.  Santa had an affinity for pirate legos, because he knew that I understood the awesomeness of pirates.

After slowly pulling each item out of my stocking, I would have fun playing with everything until FINALLY it was 6:00 and the rest of the sleepyheads in my family would be ready to wake up.  Well, not so much “ready” as “agreed to not get too mad when I came into their rooms and bugged them.”

I’d always hang out at the foot of my parents’ bed while they opened their stockings.  Meanwhile, my sister would slowly be waking up and would be lagging far enough behind my parents that I could usually catch the second half of her opening her stocking after my parents were done.  Hers usually wasn’t as interesting, as Santa would typically bring us a lot of the same things.

Then, it was time to venture out into the living room, where our 12-foot Christmas tree was standing atop what was sure to be a mountain of presents.  See, from the time I went to bed up until this moment, I never looked directly out at the presents under the tree.  Even if I had to get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, I would purposely avoid looking out.  I always loved to savor Christmas, as it only comes once a year.  My sister would peek during the night.

Usually my Mom and I would make it to the living room first.  My Mom would snap on the lights, and there would be the remains of what could only be described as Santa’s bag exploding all around the tree.  We always had a TON of presents.  I have a few photos that could illustrate this, but unfortunately, they’re on a CD packed away.

Each year, there would always be one big, special present that would shine above the rest.  When I was 4, it was my Bert and Ernie garage playset that I asked Santa for when I sat on his lap at the Windham Mall.  When I was 7, it was the hanging model of the solar system my parents painstakingly made themselves out of appropriately proportionately-sized styrofoam balls, painted according to the many books on space that I owned.  It hung over my bed until after I moved out.  When I was 8, it was my He-man “Eternia” playset I was just dying to own, at 19 a Playstation, 23 a laptop, and so forth.

But we didn’t open presents yet.  First we my Mom would brew some coffee and make us some hot chocolate.  I have a Santa mug that I used every year.  I still have it, and plan on using it again this year after a two-year hiatus.  And of course, we always had mini marshmellows in it.

After that we’d turn on some Christmas music, and my parents would sit on the couch, my sister in the easy chair, and I’d make my self comfortable on the floor, on the left side of the tree beside the easy chair.  I’d be responsible for handing out the gifts; I’d find one for each of us, then we’d go around taking turns watching each other open them.  There would always be a garbage bag beside my sister and my Dad for throwing out all of the wrapping paper as we opened them.

Eventually, I’d make my way around the tree, leaving a trail of piled up toys behind me as I went.  I always tried to organize them as I opened them, to make clean up easier.  I was semi-sucessful at best.  I also had a habit of stopping to open and play with whatever I had just opened.  This always slowed down my present delivery efforts and I would get verbally prodded along. 

Besides my one big “toy” present, my Dad would always buy something special for each of us, usually something we’d use during the winter.  One year, it was my snow shoes.  Another year it was my ice-fishing traps. And so on.  Unfortunately, these gifts would typically come with curses; for example, the year of the snow shoes was the year we didn’t get enough snow to use them.  We’d joke about this, but for some reason or another it was typically the NEXT winter before we got to use our new gift.

Unwrapping gifts usually took around two hours.  In that time, the sun would always sneak up, and upon finishing we’d realize just how long we had been at it.  We’d pick up our gifts enough to make room to get to the table for breakfast.  My Dad always fried bacon and eggs.  I hate eggs, but I loved the bacon.  We typically just nuked it, so having it actually fried in a frying pan was a big deal to me (I’m kind of a baconaholic).  I eventually coined the term “Christmas Bacon” to describe it.

My Mom or my sister would always make some kind of coffee cake, or some other sweet, sticky breakfast treat, and we’d have milk and orange juice and eat breakfast as a family.  That was a rare thing.  We had many family dinners, and some quick weekend family lunches, but we were all typically on our own breakfast schedules.

And then, I’d usually disappear into my room for the better part of the day to play with all the toys Santa brought me.

These days, my Christmases are very different.  I have Christmas in Vermont with Jenn’s parents and I love it!  I admit that my outlook on the Christmas season has changed a great deal in just a few short years.  I’m much more interested in buying gifts for strangers that need them, than I am getting tons of stuff for people I know who don’t really need it.  This year, as Jenn mentioned here, we’re not getting any presents for each other, and even when we do it’s minimal, compared to the two-hour present fest I’d take part in with my family.  But even though times change, and I’ve changed, I still cherish the memories of past Christmases with my family, and still view all of my 33 past Christmases, whether they be in Windham, ME or Barre, VT, as some of the happiest days of my life.