My mother was, throughout my youngest days, quite generous with my childhood memories, more than willing to bestow them upon strangers.
Because of this innate charitable inclination of hers, little remains of Christmas decorations from my childhood. Certainly the accumulation of five children would have resulted in a huge collection of ornaments and other memorabilia. But where are they? And what were they?
I’ve heard many people talk about their childhood Christmases, the gifts they received, the traditions their family shared, the decorations in their homes and what Christmas Eve was like. I know people who can remember their 3, 4, and 5-year-old selves! I often wonder what’s wrong with me—there’s a lot, I know—but one of the most troubling flaws is the fact that I can’t remember a thing earlier than the age of 12. More than a decade is missing from my memory centers! I have borrowed and stolen memories from siblings whose brains are clearly better at storing those things. So, I have a faux memory of my 4-year-old self being the only sibling left behind in our Alaska home while the others went off to star in an episode of Romper Room. And I have a faux memory of my siblings and my 6-year-old self gathering golf balls off the course near our home in St. Louis, Missouri.
Yes, it certainly doesn’t help that Mom had a propensity for giving away our childhood stuff. My more mature self forgives her; after all, what with five stair-stepped brats and having to move every three years, it’s understandable that she’d get sick of packing up dozens of dolls, stuffed animals, train sets, Tinker Toys and so on. It was so much easier to take them down to the thrift shop and walk away with a nice little pocket-sized receipt.
My stuffed animal, a lamb that I cleverly named “Lamby” is long gone. When I’d ask about it, my mother would, as a way to atone for her sin, tell me that she gave it to a poor family. That was, and still is, her standard answer when any of us children ask her what happened to a childhood toy or the Christmas ornaments. I suppose it doesn’t help matters that we ask my mom these questions in a tone of insufferable indignation. But loss hurts! I can’t even mention the story about my sister’s first Easter basket without listening to her fifteen minutes of sobbing and recriminations towards my mom. The feeble Easter basket substitutes that my mother attempted throughout the years were just that—feeble.
I have raw, piercing envy over the tales of people who claim to still have their childhood Christmas ornaments. Seeing them lovingly photographed and displayed on blogs is simply hurtful. Hearing people talk about them on the radio is like having an apple corer shoved into my eardrums. Stop.
I want to ask my brothers and my sister if they have any of our old Christmas decorations. But I doubt for a minute I’d get an honest answer. Most likely I’d hear the same answer my mom gives. They’re all in collusion to deprive me of my childhood memories! One of these holidays I’m going to sneak into their homes, march right up to their Christmas trees and find the ornaments of my childhood perched lovingly on the branches. Until then, at least I have these photographs.
Notice that my brother, Joseph, has two Christmas stockings? Was this done to make up for the year he received a lump of coal and nothing else? Oh, and take a look at that stocking with the name “Jean” on it. I have a REPLICA of that stocking. Now that really hurts. Makes me feel like the character in that movie whose entire set of youthful memories were placed there by a mad scientist. You know that movie. That one.
That giraffe thing? Which one of you siblings has that??!! And look at that adorable little crib! I’m going next door while my sister is out of the house and I will tear her place apart until I find that thing.
But most of all, notice the tree ornaments. I see some charming, endearing little elf ornaments wearing pointy hats. Are you telling me, mom, that you gave those to a poor family? Couldn’t you just have given them some money or your toaster?
And, in this next photo, you can see even more clearly the enormous adorableness of those ornaments. You can also see me, on the far right, thinking, “I better grab those ornaments now before they get sent to live with a poor family.”
Thank goodness for photos. At least I have some evidence of my family’s Christmas ornaments from long ago as well as evidence that I existed as a 5 year old at one time.
I noticed the other day, after I stopped my selfish blubbering long enough to do the search, that a person can buy old, vintage ornaments from various websites, including ebay. If I ever find out that my family’s Christmas ornaments from days of yore are being sold on ebay, there will be hell to pay.
Artist, illustrator, writer and owner of two Boston Terriers. Living in Boise, Idaho at the base of the beautiful foothills. My art website is www.snoringdogstudio.com.
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