A Christmas List

When I was a kid, I didn’t make a lot of Christmas lists.  I wanted presents but thought Santa would know what I liked.  I didn’t have to tell anyone.  There were a couple years when I was into building model cars so I may have asked for something like that.  I know for sure I didn’t ask for the boxing gloves I received one year.  Dad got a pair too and I’m very confident he didn’t ask for them.  Maybe Santa wanted me to do a better job of defending myself.  That was about the time that young Sally, the neighborhood bully from two doors down, was beating the crap out of me.

As you can see, David Ruff and I went a couple of rounds.  I wore my dad’s gloves, and he wore mine.

I was thinking about Christmas’s past the other day, as I put up this year’s tree. I decided to decorate even though I’ll be in California on Christmas day.  Putting up my tree is another day of moving forward.  Ruth did all of our decorating, but I’ve picked up the baton to keep things moving.

In no particular order of importance, here’s my Christmas list.

I spent the first thirty of my seventy-six waking up at my parent’s house.  I returned home all through college, my first years in Plainwell, the first years as a married man, and the first couple as a father.  We had three children by December 25, 1978, and my Christmas morning ritual stopped with the birth of Michael.  We decided it was time to create our own traditions.  While we still spend part of the day with my parents, Christmas morning became “home” time.

My Grandpa Barner made homemade custard each Christmas.  It was rich with eggs and cream.   We drank the thick concoction after dinner with the pies and cakes that others had made.  His sons-in-law laced their custard with bourbon.   Kentucky Bourbon was considered the best.

My Grandma Tebo created everything homemade.   I don’t believe that there was anything in her kitchen but the raw materials of life – flour, salt, sugar, whole milk, exotic spices, etc. etc.  Her cinnamon rolls were never duplicated.  A picture of her buns (no pun intended) can be found in Webster’s Dictionary next to the words delicious and wonderful.

In 1995 I gave a journal to each of my parents as a Christmas gift and asked them to record stories from their past.   I have my father’s journal.   My request of him reads as follows: Dad – you, Uncle Harry Mac and Uncle Harry Barner have shared dozens of tales from your youth.  I love hearing them.  Please use this book to write them down so our family will always be able to know “how it used to be”.  I’ll get you more books if you need them!  Love Rob

He wrote on thirteen pages of the journal.  The first four-page entry was written on that first Christmas Day.    Those four pages read as follows: Christmas 1995   Please excuse some of the spelling as you all know your dad didn’t do very good in school.

I met your uncle Harry Mac; I believe it was around 1938.  We never had much money but whatever we had we would share right down the center.

We dated a lot together with your mom and Aunt Ruth.  At that time Uncle Harry had very little eyesight so when he would get a letter from Aunt Ruth, I would read it for him and add a few extra lines.  He would say, “That’s not really in there.”  And I would say “It sure is”.  

We would always borrow, or should I say rent, a car from one of our friends. But we never paid the rent.

My first memories of Christmas trees were of my dad and I heading to the neighborhood lot to pick out a tree mom would like, and dad would be willing to pay for.  It took a bit of compromise.  I do recall we paid as high as $5.00 for a tree, but most were around $3.00.  A $2.00 splurge was a big deal because you could buy a pair of shoes for about the same price.  He chose a Balsam Fir most of the time.  If it had a flat side, we just put it against the wall.