My favorite Christmas memory

It has been said that Christmas brings out the kid in all of us. I suppose that is true but I know this for sure — it definitely brings back a flood of memories of when I was a kid growing up on our White River Valley farm in South Dakota. It doesn’t take much — the sight of a lighted spruce branch, a candle burning, a certain aroma, a Christmas carol, a box of chocolate-covered cherries sitting on the kitchen counter — to take me back more than 50 years to those Christmases that now seem so far away and long ago.
My favorite memories are of gatherings with the extended family at one of the auntie’s houses, the thrill of anticipation as packages piled up under the tree, the joy of trolling the magical toyland that appeared every year in the upstairs of the old Farm and Fleet Store, the fun of taking two full weeks of time at school (and away from lessons) to practice for our annual Christmas program at Greenwood School, the opening-night jitters of performing our little plays and recitations when the old flowered curtains opened on our little makeshift stage at one end of the school room and the delight of enjoying the delicious Christmas treats our moms had brought, and all in a roomful of family, friends and neighbors in our rural community.
I’ll never forget the year we ended the program by coming out in front of the curtain with our hands behind our backs and singing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” When the song ended, we hurled the handfuls of candy we had been hiding behind our backs out into the little audience. Considering the energy some of us put into the throwing, I’m kind of surprised somebody didn’t lose an eye!
But if someone were to ask me to share my most favorite Christmas memory, I would have to say it was something that happened a bit later in my childhood when I was approaching my teen years. It happened seemingly on the spur of the moment and it ended up becoming a sort of Christmas Eve tradition in our family for several years after.
Although many of our friends and cousins’ families opened their presents on Christmas Eve, our parents always insisted that we wait to open ours until Christmas morning.
We’d get up early, but it didn’t really matter because Dad would have to milk the cow and feed the rest of the cattle first. When he finally got back in the house and got his coveralls off, he always took his own sweet time, spending what seemed like an hour in the bathroom, getting all cleaned up and ready to give the official command to tear paper, as we called it.
Nevertheless, we always pestered them to let us open at least one the night before and sometimes they relented, but we really hoped they would get with the program and allow us to open them all on Christmas Eve.
Well, this one year when my brother, Wendell and I were both still in school and the two oldest siblings were back from college or work or wherever, we once again started in on the annual litany of begging to open presents on Christmas Eve. To our surprise, however, this time Mom said we could... on one condition. We would first have to go caroling at some of our neighbors’ houses.
Now, mind you, we lived 30 miles out in the country, so it wasn’t like we were just going to go strolling down the street singing “Deck the Halls” while the neighbors came out and listened.
But, because it meant we could tear into the treasure trove under the tree that night and because we were a family who enjoyed singing together anyway, we gladly agreed and piled into the car to drive a couple of miles across the bridge to our nearest neighbors, the Hutchison families. We ended up going to several homes, perhaps traveling as many as 10 miles to do so.
I don’t remember many details after so many years, but as I think about that night my mind is full of warm impressions of smiling neighbors opening doors and listening as we sang outside, then inviting us in to enjoy Christmas cookies or coffee or cocoa. But what I remember most is the joy!
On a night when families are mostly to themselves, enjoying their holiday bounty, listening to Christmas music or watching holiday specials on TV, thinking of what they will get, we went outside of ourselves and our celebration and took our family’s gift of music to share with others. And they were so pleased and so warmed by our humble offering that they opened their doors and welcomed us in and shared some of their Christmas cheer with us.
The lesson in that little tradition for me was that the spirit of Christmas is meant to be shared and sometimes we have to step outside of our own self-centered celebrations to take a risk and intentionally bring the joy of Christmas to others. After all, that’s what God did for us that very first Christmas night. “So the Word became human and made his home among us. He was full of unfailing love and faithfulness. And we have seen his glory, the glory of the Father’s one and only Son.” (John 1:14)
Funny thing... I don’t remember much about what I got for Christmas that first caroling year or any of the several other Christmas Eves in those next few years, but I will always remember and cherish the warm memories and the smiles on the faces of our neighbors and the joy of sharing our Christmas with them.
Merry Christmas!
RON BURTZ can be reached at newsregister@hamilton.net