The First Christmas I Remember
Our 1940 Christmas holiday marked the end of an era—a beautiful era.
I’m sure this Christmas Eve was not much different from every previous Christmas Eve of my life (except for the real live Santa), it’s just the first one I remember. We lived in the Central Valley farmhouse my grandfather, Jens (from Jutland, Denmark) had built around 1880, before sending for his bride, Marie. By this night in 1940 he was an old man. Grandma Marie had died on December 14, just 10 days ago.
Despite the recent loss, we had the traditional Juleaften—Danish Christmas Eve—the Danes are big on holidays, especially Christmas and birthdays.
The seldom-used room was heated by a potbellied cast iron stove. We had guests. Everyone’s hand held a mixed drink or cup of Gløgg (Danish mulled wine).
My sister Patty (age 7) and I (5) had 7-Up. The round oak dining table beneath the gas-lit chandelier was laden with Danish delicacies: Christmas cookies and cakes, open-faced sandwiches, et cetera. A Christmas tree stood between the two windows in the combination living/dining room. It was decorated with antique glass ornaments and strings of large multi-colored lights which, if, one went out, they all did. And it was loaded with tinsel painstakingly applied, one strand at a time—lots of tinsel twisting and glistening with any movement in the room. Grandma’s pump organ sat next to the window; I think I remember someone playing Christmas carols and everyone singing, but I might be making that up.
Patty and I were the only children present, and the festivities were, I think, mainly for us that year. The big event of the evening, my
most vivid memory, began when the window between the organ and the Christmas tree lifted open. The gownups quieted and, looking meaningfully at Patty and me, directed our attention toward the window. A bulging pillowcase came through and dropped to the floor, followed by Santa Claus, dressed all in red with white “fur” trim. One booted foot and a leg came appeared, then a red-capped head with a white beard, followed by the shoulders and the rest of his rotund body, and finally, the other leg and boot. Santa came in wishing everyone, Glædelig jul, glædelig jul.
I don’t remember the gifts, only that Santa came in through the window and gave us presents. I do recall the excitement my sister and I felt at the center of attention. I recall the smiles on the adults’ faces as we giggled and timidly approached Santa for a gift.
The country was in the grip of the Great Depression, so Santa’s gifts weren’t grand. The real gift was the effort, in the throes of recent loss and grieving, to create a special Christmas memory for us kids.
Though no one could have imagined it that Juleaften night, our first Christmas without Grandma Marie would also be our last Christmas with Daddy and Grandpa Jens, our last Christmas on the farm, the last Christmas we believed in Santa, the last Christmas before the country was at war, and the last Christmas my mom didn’t have to work her butt off to support the family.
It’s an extra-special memory.
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Great stories. I was right there with you.
Love the Blog. Congratulations.