CHRISTMAS MEMORIES

“I thank my God every time I remember you.” Philippians 1:3

My Dear Sister Judy,

Looking back, it was only a handful of seasons;

in the scope of our lives, it was only a few,

but it seemed like scores of Christmases then,

whose comings and goings would never end,

when Mother would bring the Christmas tree in

in colors no tree ever grew.

Like cotton candy, more than a tree,

flocked in blue, even pink-tinted snow,

we’d deck it in fashionable “ice”covered lights,

and when our picture window would fog up just right,

303 Tenaha would extinguish the night,

and our proud eyes and hearts would glow.

I remember my Betsy-Wetsy doll;

I remember your Tiny Tears.

There were red and yellow cowboy boots,

chemistry sets, and stocking loot,

Roman candles, almonds, and Juicy Fruit,

dependable, year after year.

And we could always depend on Mother to run

from the pictures Daddy would click.

Cousins came over, or we went there,

anxious to see how each other fared,

still in pajamas, but nobody cared—

and there were log-sized peppermint sticks!

You played your piano or accordion,

and Daddy made all of us sing.

For this one day, at least, a ceasefire was called;

no bombs could be dropped, no axes could fall.

It was all for one, and one for all—

a miracle only Christmas could bring.

It was magic for sure, and we couldn’t wait

for the season to work its charm.

Duke Ellen and Janis would appear with their things;

you’d play your records and compare diamond rings

while we’d cuss and bust my new trampoline.

Life was happy and safe and warm.

The family weather was unstable;

in a flash it could turn ice-cold.

And its fabric was fickle— burlap or cashmere—

it was anyone’s guess all the rest of the year.

But when we pulled out the tinsel, we packed up the tears,

and fashioned a tapestry of gold.

Some logs in that hearth we’ve resigned to the ages;

some better as ashes than embers.

But the way our parents made Christmas- oh man!

Weren’t they something? Wasn’t it grand?

Just Mother and Daddy, Judy, and Jan,

and those precious Parker Decembers.

(To my little big sister, who alone can share these rare memories)

Remember these days?

Quick—before you get up and are swept into the season’s bustle today—grab a pen and write some shared memories of a Christmas Past to someone you love!