Memories & mishaps

WHAT A DOLL
When I was 10 years old, in 1925, all I wanted for Christmas was a Bye Lo doll. It was a replica of a 3-day-old baby. At the time, my mother was supporting herself and me on $20 a week, and the doll was $10. I knew I would never get one. Once, I had asked my mother if we could go to the bakery and get a pecan roll, and she told me that we couldn’t afford one that week because it was 25 cents.

All I talked about was getting one of those beautiful dolls. I don’t know how my mother found the money, but, sure enough, I got her for Christmas. I named her Betty Ann and was very attached.

I kept her throughout my life and planned to give her to my daughter, if I had one, but I only had two sons. I kept Betty Ann in my guest bedroom. The neighbor’s little girl saw Betty Ann and got very attached to her, so one year I gave the doll to the little girl for Christmas.
— Norma Martin

GAUDY HOLIDAY
In my family, we exchange gifts on Christmas Eve after a traditional Puerto Rican dinner and tropical egg nog. We would spend the evening playing board games and watching Christmas shows. It is a great traditional Christmas Eve celebration.

Around 15 years ago, my husband gave me a gaudy glitter Christmas vest to wear when I visited my family. The reactions of my young nieces and nephews were priceless. They were aghast at my ugly Christmas outfit. This response only encouraged me to do it again the following year and thereafter try to outdo my ugly Christmas sweaters every year.

Over the years, I expanded my ugly Christmas outfits to include silly headpieces or funny Christmas hats and even added Christmas socks to the ensemble.

A few years ago, my now 30-year-old nephew brought his fiancé to Christmas Eve dinner so she could see his crazy aunt’s Christmas outfit. And about five years ago my younger niece and nephew asked if I could dress them up, too. This began the tradition of including Christmas socks in their stockings, which they would use on Christmas Day.

I don’t remember some of the gifts we exchanged for Christmas in the past, but I recall the laughs. It is my hope my nieces and nephews will continue the ugly Christmas outfit tradition after I’m gone and will tell their kids about how this family tradition started with crazy Aunt Lourdes.
— Lourdes Ramirez

O, Christmas tree
My younger brother and sister and I were spending our first Christmas in Florida in 1948. We had never been in a place where it was warm at Christmas. We wanted a Christmas tree and my dad said no, because we were living in a little apartment. So John, Mary and I went downtown; we lived down (U.S.) 41 so we walked downtown. We drug a Christmas tree back with us — we were determined. We didn’t even have any lights or anything.
— Nancy Shaughnessy

DINNER DEDICATION
I’m a close-to-Christmas baby (Dec. 19), and my mom is a Christmas Eve baby, so it was quite a busy time around the Rouillard house the year I was born — coupled with the fact my dad was a minister, so he had various services to attend to. It was a standing tradition for our family to have prime rib and Yorkshire pudding for Christmas dinner.

My mom, a perfectionist at heart and wonderful cook, has a special recipe to cook prime rib that has the oven heat start at 450 degrees, and then you roast the prime rib for about 30 minutes and then turn the heat off but keep the door closed for about two-plus hours.

She put the prime rib in the oven and then went to lay down for a short nap because she was really tired, having just given birth six days prior and having relatives in addition to my two older sisters at the house. She fell asleep, along with everyone else, and was woken up by a strange burning smell. Lo and behold, the quick 30-minute nap turned into more like two hours and Christmas roast became Christmas shoe leather.

In her true style, she still pulled off a lovely dinner with the help of others, a poignant reminder that the holidays bring more value in being together than what you eat.
— Holly Johnson

THE CAT’S MEOW
My cat Henry likes to sleep in the Christmas tree. One year I had a beautiful tree all decorated and Henry slept in the tree. But he’s so fat that he bent all of the branches and shredded everything.
— Suzanne Lersch

FLIGHT OF FANCY
I work as a flight attendant for United Airlines. When I first started out I was on reserve, meaning they could call me in to work at any time. They work 24 hours a day, and you’re on call. I never had holidays off unless I was lucky enough not to get called in.

About 14 to 15 years ago, I was going to be spending Christmas alone again. I was called in to work and sat waiting to get a call from scheduling to find out when and where I would be flying on Christmas Eve — or if I would be staying at the Newark airport through the night. The phone rang, and scheduling told me I’d be flying to Düsseldorf, Germany.

“OK, here I go,” I said.

There were eight other flight attendants and the cabin crew. The flight went well, no problems. We landed and all went to nap for a few hours, but then we got a call from our captain. He said we were not going to be spending our Christmas alone.

He took us out for a beautiful dinner — we ate chicken schnitzel — and then he told us we were going to the Christmas market. It was called the “sternchen” market, which means “little star” in German. There were lit up crystals, all different colors and thousands of lights. I can still remember the smell; it was wonderful. The vendors were cooking outdoors, making pastries. It was snowing a little, too.

To this day I can picture it in my head — the smells, the snow, the music. It was one of the most memorable for me because I thought I was going to be alone and miserable that Christmas, and it came out magical.
— Laura Martin

SHEER FEAR
I was 3 years old and deathly afraid of Santa. On Christmas Eve, I woke up in the middle of the night and stumbled around the house looking for scissors. When I found the scissors I chopped off all of my beautiful long blond hair, bangs included, so Santa wouldn’t be able to recognize me.

I was so scared after I chopped off my hair that I grabbed my golden locks and the scissors and slept under my parents’ bed. In the morning when my mom woke up, she found me with a butchered haircut and freezing. It took years for those bangs to grow back, but I was able to give everyone a good laugh for years to come!
— Desiree Hanright

WRONG SONG
One memorable yet horrifying Christmas mishap was an accidental performance on stage before a sold-out concert hall. It was my brother’s Christmas recital with the Glen Ellyn Children’s Chorus.

For the finale, the announcer invited all of the children who were past participants of the program to come up on stage for the final song. My mother, however, misunderstood the announcement and thought the request was for all children to join on stage for the final song. She urged me to go up with all of the other children and sing. I was a fearless 7-year-old and happily obliged. The instructor greeted each child with excitement, but as I passed by with a big smile I received a look of confusion from her.

The orchestra began to play, and I stood there expecting to hear a familiar holiday classic. No such luck. As I gazed out into the audience, it was clear those who were on stage with me were well rehearsed. It all happened so fast, but as they broke into their multipart harmony I had to do something. I had two options: Run off the stage making a scene or stand there lip synching before I knew what that even was. For what seemed like an eternity I mouthed “watermelon” repeatedly, hoping to appear as though I actually belonged up there.

At last, the song was finally over! As we exited the stage, the instructor hugged and congratulated all of her former students. I received a raised eyebrow and a perplexed look (again) when I passed her.

I kept my composure as I returned to my seat, but once I saw the look of embarrassment on my mother and father’s faces, I broke out into tears. I know I was upset at the time, but as I reflect on this story now as a parent, I can only imagine how horrible my mother felt as she watched me try to make my way through that scenario.

Alas, all ended well, and this story continues to bring my family many laughs every Christmas!
— Bridget Ziegler

NIGHT OF LIGHTS
I grew up in Chesterfield County, in the suburbs of Richmond, Va. Every year on Christmas Eve after church and spaghetti at my grandmother’s house, my family would pile into the car and drive into downtown Richmond to see the lights. This was the only time of the year we went downtown. It was magical to see the big, tall buildings trimmed in white lights and the river sparkling under the clear, dark sky.
— Lynn Hobeck-Bates

GLASS HALF-FULL
A few years ago I had made a breakfast strata for Christmas morning. I put it on the stovetop and turned on the oven to preheat. We went about our morning opening presents, and about 35 minutes in we hear this huge explosion.

We all went running into the kitchen and what we found was a mess of glass, eggs, cheese and bacon. I had turned on the stove top rather than the oven and the pan exploded. But here is the interesting part — the reactions by my family members:

My grandmother: “Is anyone hurt?”

My mom: “Is anything else broken?”

Me and my sister: “Secure the perimeter so no one steps on glass or food.”

My husband: “What are we going to eat now?”
— Nicole Rissler

LOVE LETTER
When my daughter was 4, I got the idea to write her a letter from Santa. In the letters, Santa would always praise her for her accomplishments, such as, “Christy, my elves tell me that you’ve stopped sucking your thumb. Good for you, girl!”

Every year, Santa would observe achievements and make subtle suggestions that only he could make. The letters arrived year after year on special Santa green stationery in a red envelope. A few years ago, he wrote, “The elves say that these days there’s a special twinkle in your eyes because you have some one (other than your parents) to share life’s experiences with.”

More recently Santa wrote, “And what a lovely mother you’ve become. Babies know a lot more than people think and you’ve started instilling your Gabriella with the confidence and the loving goodness that fills your heart.”

This year, Christy turned 42. Her letter from Santa goes in the mail tomorrow.

Thirty-eight years of letters from Santa, and I’m beginning to think she suspects the letters are from me.

— Tony Nacinovich

*See the letter from 2012 below.

Dear Christy,
Here it is my favorite time of year - actually, my favorite time is when my daughter visits, but I digress ... so Ho, Ho, Ho and here we go. Where I live, people put so many lights outside their houses, I don’t know if they’re celebrating the birth of Jesus or Florida Power & Light. Everybody’s getting “Santamental.”

The ending of the year reminds us that nothing lasts forever and we need to keep the important issues at the top of our priority list. Happiness and sorrow are part of our learning. I relish seeing how much joy and hope this year has brought for you and encourage your optimism for the year ahead.

My elves tell me that once again you’ve been especially good. No surprise there. While Mrs. Claus is quick to remind me that good work is its own best reward, I’m hoping there’ll be lots of presents for you under the Christmas tree. All the more to move to Florida! (If you do, there’ll be no more frozen noses and no flannel pajamas, either.) Increasingly, you come to appreciate that this life isn’t about things. It’s about fulfillment and love. There’s no greater gift than love of and from a child and your soul mate.

Christy, from your earliest moments as a child, I saw that you possessed qualities so unique and special that distinguished you above all others. I was so right.

Keep your heart filled with joy and love —just keep being you.

With all my love, your jolly old pal,
Santa

MIDNIGHT SNACK
As a newlywed in 1961 in Loveland, Ohio, our first Christmas was a very small one with a tree we cut down from a wooded area near our apartment. It was a “Charlie Brown” tree with most of the branches on the bottom. We had no real ornaments and were on a really small budget, so we baked cutout cookies making gingerbread men and angels.

I had a small puppy, about 4 months old. Imagine our surprise when we got up the next day to see just heads of gingerbread men and angels hanging there. During the night Miss Puddles had eaten everything she could reach.
— Kay Weber