Strangely enough, I don’t have all that many Christmas memories. The ones I do recall are because of family movies – long since destroyed.
I can see my great-great grandmother and my grandmother walking into a room, or my mother parading around in her new fur. (That was a big deal that year.) Or my brother in his football uniform and both of us on roller skates. Or when I got a Madame Alexander doll and showed her to the camera.
Independent of movie flashbacks, however, my childhood is shrouded in a gray fog.
I have no idea why I can’t remember a lot of my childhood. It may have something to do with the fact that I was always trying to be unnoticed. Or that I always had my nose in a book. Or that my imaginary life was so much detailed and interesting than my real life. I didn’t have any major traumas in my childhood. No physical abuse, but the jury is still out if having a high functioning alcoholic for a father counts as emotional abuse.
When my boys were little I went out of my way to keep Santa Clause alive for as long as I could. There were years when we didn’t have much, but there was always a tree, a few presents, and joy.
May your Christmas this year – and every year – be a celebration of love, joy, and togetherness. And, if the togetherness isn’t possible then I hope that your memories are rich, detailed, and filled with love.
Merry Christmas, y’all.
Karen and Stanley (The Terrier Terror)