When we are children, the world becomes a place of wonder at Christmas time. Everyone seems to be in on it. City and town councils have the streets specially decorated with lights and greenery. Seasonal music surrounds us in the stores and malls. Neighbors bake cookies and treats and leave them at each other’s doorsteps. People smile and wave at one another and exchange season’s greetings. Today I am letting go of my cynicism about Christmas. There are plenty of folks writing about that. I will choose today to remember with fondness the beauty and wonderment that I have experienced at Christmas. This is for my mother, Margaret Franklin, who loved and sometimes lived for all things Christmas.
My earliest memories are of Christmas on Providence Drive in Charlotte. There are only a few years that I recall when our entire family all lived in the same house. We lived in a cozy little cottage style home nestled between Cotswold and Eastover. My parents, two older brothers, and my big sister all shared one bathroom. Of course, as the baby of the family, I was always up first. I would race down from my attic room, before daylight, to wake my parents. They would say that I was too early, but they would let me wait at the foot of their bed until they were ready.
Most likely, Randy was the next one up. This is when Mom and Dad would give the OK to start getting up. Mom would make us wait while she fixed coffee for her and Dad. Dad would knock on Hope’s door off the hallway where we waited. The door out to the living room would be closed. Just on the other side waited the tree surrounded by wrapped gifts from our parents and bigger unwrapped gifts from Santa. Mom would wake Tommy from his basement room and bring him through the dining room into the hall with us. Dad would crack the door to the living room just enough to go through and start the Christmas music on the old Zenith console stereo. Without fail, Mom would start saying in an excited tone, “Did Santa come?” over and over to get us extra revved up.
Then Dad would open the door wide, and I would race in to see what Santa had brought. One year a new bicycle, another a Lionel train set. It was always something special and we were lucky that our parents saved and scrimped to be able to make this magic happen for four kids. We would shout out our excitement over the big gifts, and then Mom would remind us to check our stockings. The stockings were packed mostly with candy, but the toe was always rounded out nicely by a real Florida Orange or two. If it was the weather was cool enough, there would be a fire in the fireplace to warm us as we all took turns opening our gifts.
Then it was time to take our gifts to our rooms and lay them all out on our beds so that we could show them to whoever might visit that day.
At their house, Mamaw and Papaw would do the same in anticipation of our visit to see them a little later in the morning. They were prolific greeting card senders, so they also received more Christmas cards than anyone I knew. They had so many, that they would run strings across the room, near the ceiling and hang the cards for all to see. Then it was time to have Christmas dinner. On Christmas day, lunch is called dinner. This was one of the rare occasions that the grandchildren were allowed to go into the formal rooms at Mamaw and Papaws’ house. The food would be out buffet style on the fancy dining room table. I could see the virtually untouched and poshly furnished living room from here. We got a glimpse, which made the day a bit more magical, and then were shuffled back into the Den and breakfast area. Sometimes we were there at the same time as our cousins. We would have each brought along a special gift to show each other.
We would all be allowed to go in my grandparents’ bedroom to see their gifts neatly arranged and displayed on their king-sized bed. They had the only king-sized bed I had ever seen. It seemed so luxurious. Mamaw and Papaw grew up on farms near small towns, but they enjoyed nice things. After the hoopla, we would say our farewells. Papaw would do his special double handed, thumb twirling wave at us as we drove away. Mamaw would blow kisses and occasionally hold up one foot and wave at us with it. We always honked the horn as we drove away.
The rest of the day would be up to each of us individually. I would hop on the new bike or run as fast as I could to the neighborhood kids houses and we would all compare the loot we hauled in that day.
Supper would be leftovers from Christmas dinner, packed and sent home with us by Mamaw. It was a big day, and we were all exhausted but happily content as we got ready for bed.
My mother was happiest when family spent time together. She was so proud of us all and she made sure that we all felt special. Our happiness was her happiness. And on Christmas she always did all she could to make us the happiest kids on earth.
