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Here are some examples of people across the country who have experienced the true meaning—and the heart—of the holidays.
A Mother’s Blessing
Genie Zieger of Shelburne, Mass., remembers a special holiday gift whose meaning was far-reaching:
“My mother would hide our Chanukah gifts in the bottom drawer of her fat mahogany dresser, having no idea my sister and I knew that under those shiny slips and scarves, we could sneak previews.
Because Chanukah is a weeklong celebration with candles lighted and gifts given each night, lots of the gifts were duds—a pair of socks, a box of crayons, a rubber ball. But one year, my 14th, the year in which I was aspiring to be a “Bohemian,” I found, amid the clutter, a brown and black knitted turtleneck sweater. It was, I saw instantly, the kind of sweater an artist in Greenwich Village would wear. (I wanted to grow up and be an artist in Greenwich Village.)
When I opened it in her presence on the first night, I feigned surprise but displayed genuine delight and then wore it as often as I could. (July and August were tough.) Forty years later, I still keep that sweater, a token of my mother’s affirmation of my own belief in who and what I, her daughter, longed to be: an individual with far less conventional tastes than her own.”
The Magic of Santa
“It was 1924. I was 5 years old. Overnight, after Thanksgiving, the world had become a fairyland. Snow transformed the city into a white wonder world. Big-wheeled wagons were put away and larger work sleighs pulled by massive horses moved along the frozen streets.
Anticipation infused the air. Santa Claus was coming soon, and he would bring me a present. Parental advice not to expect too much because of financial constraints was dismissed. Santa Claus brought presents—you did not have to pay. There was joy and peace and kindness everywhere. People seemed to be trying to outdo Santa in caring for the needy.
My faith was justified. Santa brought me a wonderful mechanical auto, “Leaping Lena.” When a spring was wound, the car would run along, suddenly break in the middle like a bucking horse, then reassemble itself and continue on.
Every year since, that same ambience returned after Thanksgiving. Every year, Santa brought me a gift. Five years later, some of my older friends told me there was no Santa Claus. I, of course, knew they were wrong.
Every year, I see the same spirit of kindness and love filling the atmosphere as people reach out to help others in need. Every year, our family gathers around the Christmas tree to see what Santa has brought us. I have never been disappointed.
This year, my wife, children, and grandchildren will gather to share the fruits of Santa’s visit. I will be feeling the same sense of anticipation as I did in 1924. I will eagerly unwrap my gift to see what Santa brought me. There will always be large children who believe in Santa Claus, who know more than the older, wiser, kids. I know, because I am one of them.”
Random Acts of Holiday Kindness
“Having been a single mother for eight years, I know how hard it is to afford the Christmas you want to give your kids, and how far a parent will stretch to achieve this. We hit upon the idea of going to Wal-Mart in mid-December, and paying off (or making a large payment on) someone’s layaway—one with toys on it.
We love the idea of someone showing up to make a payment, a payment that might mean doing without something else, and being told that their account is paid and they can take the gifts home.”
An Unexpected Gift
Warren D. Jorgensen of New York remembers what he calls, “My O. Henry Christmas.”
“In 1948, I wanted a sled more than anything, but Mom said I was too young. Nothing I said or did worked. Dad pitched in on my side, but that didn’t work either. I wasn’t getting a sled. Besides, we weren’t getting that much snow. Until Christmas Eve, when the Blizzard of ’48 dropped 25 inches of snow on southern New York.
It created traffic chaos, and nothing was moving, not even a mouse. Mom said she was running short of something she needed for the Christmas dinner. Dad went out on foot, I knew not where. I went out to drown my miseries in a snow bank.
I was the sole sign of life in the white silence of falling snow, vanquishing mailboxes, fireplugs, and lampposts with a barrage of snowballs when another moving figure caught my eye. Down the street, a hunched figure walked through the circular glow cast by the street light.
He was pulling a long rope. He passed into the darkness again, the other end of the rope passed under the lamp, attached to the most beautiful, 5-foot-long ash sled that I had ever seen. My father was coming home.”
Old-Fashioned Fun
“When I was a kid, we always used to make snowflakes by folding white paper and then cutting out intricate patterns with scissors. Then we’d Scotch-tape them onto the front windows.
We also used to love to make “stained glass windows” by ironing crayon shavings between two sheets of waxed paper until the colors melted and ran together. These would be hung in the windows also. Now that I have children, they have begun to look forward to making these simple decorations each December.
The Christmas Piglet
Christmas really hasn’t arrived in the Rhinehardt home in Summerville, S.C., until the Christmas Pig is hung, says Gretchen D. Rhinehardt.
“My daughter Chassity was 4 and attending kindergarten in 1977. Christmas was just around the corner, and the teacher asked the children to select some type of ornament they could make and give their mother as a gift. It would be made of plaster of Paris and brightly painted for the holidays.
Some selected angels, some stars, others sleds, Santas, and candy canes. We are still unable to explain why Chassity selected a pig. She designed, shaped, and painted (blue) the most homely (so ugly you couldn’t help but love it) pig, complete with hanger, ready to be hung. But on the Christmas tree?
We hung it on the tree that first Christmas and every one since 1977. It became as much a part of Christmas as Santa Claus himself. We’ve used all kinds of trees through the years and a new theme each year. Regardless of the motif, the tree is never complete without the pig, nor has Christmas really arrived at our house until the pig has been hung.”
Picture-perfect Present
Alan Ross, of Monteagle, Tenn., recalls one of the best gifts he ever received as a child growing up in Wilton, Conn.:
“At Christmastime 1953, television still was in its infancy and its advertising held a compelling and mystifying allure to most viewers. I was 9 years old, but I remember falling under the spell of a particular commercial from artist Jon Gnagy, who had his own painting show, inviting me to paint overnight like a master. His paint-by-numbers technique seemed accessible, even to a young brush stroke like me.
The annual Christmas list was submitted, with Gnagy’s paint kit at the top. It created an immediate stir. My mother laughed, and my father, then one of America’s top illustrators, howled.
“You can get free art lessons at home anytime,” my dad roared in exasperation. “And by one of the best artists in the country,” my mom added.
Still, all of Dad’s skill and expertise didn’t come in a nice shiny box with Jon Gnagy’s goateed countenance on the front. I didn’t budge. The kit remained atop my list.
Christmas morning brought the annual pre-dawn dash to the tree to discover the season’s yield. Under the tree staring back at me, with a personal invitation to surpass the heights attained by Renoir and Fragonard, who somehow had missed the opportunity in their schooling to paint by numbers, was the friendly face of Jon Gnagy on that slick kit box cover.”
The stories “The Magic of Santa,” “Random Acts of Holiday Kindness,” and “Old-Fashioned Fun” are from Simple Pleasures for the Holidays; a Treasury of Stories and Suggestions for Creating Meaningful Celebrations, by Susannah Seton. Reprinted with permission.
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