We all have memories to which we long to return. This time of year always makes me nostalgic for the people and places that filled the holidays when I was a kid. Christmas, in particular, sparks a sense of longing that only Burl Ives or Bing Crosby could capture.
Christmas Eve is the day we would spend with extended family on both my mom’s and dad’s sides. They were always two very different experiences but both are so treasured.
First, we would go to my Papaw and Aunt Sharon’s house. I have such distinct recall of walking in and all the hellos, hugs, and kisses. We would put our gifts under the tree and toss our coats in the closet. The food was phenomenal. My Aunt Sharon makes the best ham ever and I always looked forward to hers. We also had beans and cornbread that always tasted just right. There were always so many people! It was loud, chaotic, and everyone sat anywhere they could find a spot - couch, floor, steps, wherever. It wasn’t a small house, but it was full to bursting with lots of aunts, uncles, and cousins.
My dad and uncles would always be sitting at the kitchen table with Pap, telling stories and laughing. I will never forget the sound of my Uncle Clinus’ laugh. Sadly, of all the men who would gather around that table, only a couple are left. I am so thankful for the memory of the voices of those beloved men.
The kids would beg for present-opening time and, when allowed, we ripped into them with reckless abandon, wrapping paper piling up around us. The Slones love loudly and it was always great fun.
All too soon, my mom, dad, and I would say our goodbyes and head out to my Gram and Gramps Sanders’ house. The route to get there was all back-country roads (my dad’s famous “shortcuts”), and I remember being small, believing in Santa, driving through the snowy dark with the moon shining on the snow and Christmas songs playing on the radio. It truly felt magical as I thought about how Santa would soon be flying through that same sky.
Arriving at the Sanders party involved just as hearty greetings as the Slones, but everything else was very different. Not at all in a bad way. We would all put our coats on the bed in my grandma’s stylish bedroom that had rich brown walls and white furniture. The atmosphere at my grandparents’ home at Christmas time was so distinctly them. The dimmed lights in the kitchen, everyone dressed up, and there is a scent that their cozy Bellevue home had that I can vividly remember. I don’t know what it was, but it was always the same. (I should pause to clarify that it was a good scent, not a bad one!)
Any time I hear “O Holy Night” or “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” sung by Dean Martin or Nat King Cole or anyone else from that era, I am transported back to my grandparents’ kitchen on a snowy Christmas Eve with those songs playing softly on the radio.
I always thought they had the coolest basement. Their house was kind of a split level, so the basement wasn’t totally underground. There was a big dining room table, a buffet, and some seats at the far end. The buffet had three cubbies and my two cousins and I each had one with our own coloring books and set of crayons. (This was before our youngest two cousins came along.) We would hang out in the basement and color or play with the old toy cars in the crawl space. (This was also where the Faygo cream soda and root beer were kept!)
The toy cars were an adventure of their own. They were my dad and his siblings’ Matchbox-style cars and trucks. They were in a sturdy brown sack that we would dump on the floor. We took turns choosing our vehicles. I was always last because I was the youngest at the time. There were a few that we would fight over - the ones that had opening doors. While we played, we would talk about what we would get for Christmas and how we couldn’t wait to open presents. Because we ate with my mom’s family, we missed the big Sanders meal, but did get to enjoy ham sandwiches and cookies. When we were there for any big holiday meals, though, the grownups would sit at the “big” table and the cousins would sit at the classic “kid table” card table set up for the occasion.
When it was time to open gifts, there was no rush of ripping and tearing. Aunt Diane would dole out our gifts and we would take turns opening them one at a time. Grownups on the couches and chairs and cousins on the floor. We always knew the last thing we would receive would be the long, white envelopes nestled among the branches of Gram’s meticulous tree. We each had one with our names written in her neat cursive. We always got a lot of money in those envelopes that had come from our Gram’s sister.
Sometimes, the grownups would play games like cards or Password and I would typically fall asleep to the sound of our people laughing and talking. There was such comfort in drifting off to such familiar sounds.
When it was time to go, we would say our sleepy goodbyes, giving each person a hug and a kiss. My dad would carry me, half-asleep, to the already-warmed-up car, and I would drift in and out until we got home.
Oh to go back and have one more Christmas with my dad, Pap, Gram, and Gramps. Those special Christmases are frozen in time in my heart. I know I will never recapture the pure joy and security that I felt as a child, surrounded by so many people I loved and who loved me. But every year at Christmas-time, I let my heart wander back to those sweet memories and thank the Lord that I had such wonderful things to hold onto all these years.
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