My first thoughts always of childhood Christmas are me standing at the doorway to the living room where I can see my brothers tearing open presents, and me feeling unable to move, or even step into the room. “Come on… look Santa came!” I’m standing there frozen until dad says: “Look here’s one with your name on it. Come open it!” I went to him, took it, he bid me to sit down and open it. I did, slowly, sheepishly open it. He coaxed me to open more. I remember my brothers being long finished opening theirs and playing with their toys before I ever finished. I shamefully took my belongings to my room; I had nothing my brothers were interested in.
Most games, etc. that were meant to share, went to my brothers room as he was the oldest. They shared a room; I usually never saw the games again. “No girls allowed”.
Now mind you, I was not always an innocent. I also remember one year when we were given a couple of dollars to buy each other presents. I had some change left over and bought myself something like a candy bracelet, NM caught me with it, and I received all kinds of hell for spending some of that money on myself. She let me know I didn’t deserve anything for Christmas. I was selfish. She let me know that I was greedy, and that if I had some change left over I should have bought her a pack of gum or something, after all she has done for me.
Struggling with my memories of anything about childhood Christmas the last few days, I finally remembered another. I was still young enough that I believed in Santa. My older brother practically made me snoop in NM’s closet, he told me there was no Santa, and that’s where she hid our presents. I was frightened to go into her room, let alone her closet. I still remember him opening bags, he handed me one that he said was mine I remember peering into the bag afraid to touch it.
I can’t seem to remember much more about it. Except later lots of yelling, (probably spanking), and that there would be no Christmas for us. I’m sure I took the brunt of it as usual. I think there were a few gifts from aunts and uncles. Just judging from other childhood experiences, I’m sure my sicko brother put the blame on me.
There are a few other later crappy memories, not worth mentioning. BUT, the big stand out memory of all is if I wanted something for Christmas, never ever – EVER tell anyone, because if I did it would be guaranteed that I would NEVER EVER, EVER get it.
I would not tell aunts, uncles or anyone what I hoped for. I remember always wanting a guitar, I knew that just maybe; if I never told anyone that I might accidentally get one.
Somehow in the middle of the year, when I was in my mid twenties, I was blessed with an old used guitar. And somehow after losing everything that I owned several times in my life, that guitar is in my closet right now. My dad gave it to me.
This was a hard exercise for my brain.
