Why Christmas Memories Are Magical and Renew a Spirit of Innocence
Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmastime. ~Laura Ingalls Wilder
This post was originally published in December 2022 and contains some light edits.
As a kid, there were certain days throughout each year that I looked forward to with bated breath: Halloween, the once-a-year airing of The Wizard of Oz, and the last day of school (before summer vacation).
Halloween offered a unique and exciting combination of scary + fun with a ton of candy thrown in. I loved candy corn. (Yes, I’m a fan.)1 And it was only sold for Trick or Treat season. Later, savvy marketers turned it into year-round profits by changing the colors to match other assorted holidays.
The Wizard of Oz movie was my childhood favorite, but it was only available on cable TV once a year. I’d nervously scan the TV Guide, watching for the show date so I could plan accordingly. This involved an early bath and a tray of snacks ready to go well before the opening credits.
The last day of school was fantastic simply because it was followed by three months of freedom. And three months back then felt like forever.
But Christmas Eve was epic! It was off the chart in terms of pee-in-your-pants excitement. The anticipation of what would occur during this one night (practically unbelievable) and what awaited us in the morning was incredible!
Another reason for our giddy expectancy was that the holiday buzz began right after Halloween ended. I was still on a sugar high from all the sweet treats when I started pouring over the J.C. Penney Christmas catalog. Comparing and contrasting the toys I already knew I wanted with those I hadn’t seen before became a part-time job. Of course, there was a limit to what one could ask for. I kept crossing items off, changing my mind, changing it back, and rewriting new lists. This continued for weeks as the weather grew colder.
Adding to the anticipation was the first snow that usually appeared by mid-November. Most Christmases in those days were white, and I equated one with the other; the white stuff meant it was ‘just around the corner.’ I’m hard-pressed to remember a green one in those early years. The visible effects of climate change were still decades away.
Coming into the house after school, I smelled Pine-Sol, a sign that Mom’s annual holiday cleaning blitz had begun. In Sunday School, we started practicing the familiar caroling songs and Bible verses we’d recite for the Christmas program.
Dad gave us $20 to buy gifts for the family, and we took the obligatory shopping trip to the mall. (There were no big box stores yet.) The shopping was complete within two hours because Dad believed in expediency on these excursions.
Then, there was the baking of cookies. I loved the peanut blossoms and decorated sugar cookies! We assisted and always got to lick the bowl and spoon. It still amazes me that no one got sick doing this. (And how about those Easter eggs we left sitting out for a week sans refrigeration?)
Our two-story home was small, with three bedrooms and one bath. Before our younger sister came along, my brother and I had our own bedrooms. He was two years older and enjoyed teasing me as older siblings do. But, for the most part, it wasn’t mean-spirited. I think he wanted to maintain the status quo: he was older, (supposedly) smarter, and stronger. For my part, I was a bit of a whiner, crying to our mother for every perceived threat, including the dreaded Stinkeye.
But Christmas Eve was the night we came together like Yin and Yang.2 We were a dedicated team, united in our efforts to stay awake long enough to see Santa in our downstairs living room.
After baths and a bowl of cereal, we’d dutifully march to his bedroom (he had a double bed) and begin building a blanket fort with pillows and various objects. That never worked well, and we ended up supporting our tent. Armed with flashlights and a small battery-operated travel clock, the goal was to stay awake as long as necessary.
We’d play games and look at the catalog, now creased with torn pages, quite marked up with our ever-changing wishlists. Mom would periodically yell up the stairs that it was time to go to sleep, and we’d quiet down for a while. Then, the hushed giggling would commence, growing into loud whispers. We’d imagine and share all kinds of crazy scenarios of what might happen when we caught Santa delivering the goods. This brought on boisterous laughing, and Mom would reprimand us again, saying Old St. Nick would pass us by if we weren’t asleep when he arrived. Midnight was pretty late for young children, but we usually made it that far before finally falling asleep.
It was a time when we innocently believed in a fairy who exchanged our baby teeth for money and a rabbit known for dropping off baskets of colored eggs and candy. Along with Santa Claus, these childhood icons performed their tasks in the dark of the night while kids were sleeping. Of course, only well-behaved children were rewarded, while bad kids got dusty chunks of coal. And we never suspected a thing.
The common thread was a belief in something that didn’t seem possible.
Magicians were another example of our naivete. They possessed a type of wizardry that allowed them to pull white bunnies out of top hats and sever attractive women into two halves without one drop of blood. We possessed just enough gullibility to believe our own eyes.
In my pre-adolescence, when Santa and company had been cast aside as frauds (perpetuated on children to exact good behavior), I became fascinated with UFOs. My neighborhood friends and I would sleep outside on summer nights armed with binoculars, searching the night skies for any sign of flying saucers.
The common thread was the belief in something that didn’t seem possible. Something that defied common sense and even science. What living creature can exist in outer space without oxygen and water? How could someone in a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer travel the entire world in one night? How can a person be cut in half and not die, let alone continue smiling and waving to the audience?
Our innocence allowed us to believe in the magical while preventing us from knowing our world's far less beautiful realities.
I don’t recall many other details from Christmas Eve, but what remains fifty years later is the magnitude of excitement and wonder. There’s not much that creates such a frenzy for me these days. But then, magic for grownups has to do with reality and not the fantasies of our youth. What excites us is shaped by good and bad experiences. We learn to differentiate what’s real from imagined and savor all that’s truly meaningful.
The tree's twinkling lights are still lovely but pale compared to the stars in the sky. The best gifts we receive, such as good health and genuine love, can’t be bought. It’s not the home-baked cookies that matter, but the time spent with loved ones.
We don’t understand this as children, which is why the trappings of the Christmas holiday seem so magical. Sadly, as we age, our childish innocence is sacrificed, replaced by real-world good and bad experiences. That’s the price we pay for growing up.
I’m sure this is part of the sadness I feel at this time of year: the forfeiture of something precious that can never be regained. Coupled with losing loved ones integral to those happy times, it’s hard not to feel melancholy.
But, by remembering the Christmases of our past, we can honor those people and the poignant memories we shared. This nurtures our spirit and enables us to move forward towards new traditions and a future filled with happy memories yet to be made!
Merry Christmas wishes to all my readers, old and new. Thanks for being a part of the Life Matters family and a friend. I know that the holidays can be difficult depending on one’s circumstances. I’ve been there many times throughout the years for various reasons. So, I wish you peace and a New Year that promises healing, hope, and enlightenment of whatever leads you to joy.
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“Please share a favorite Christmas memory.”
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I have a very difficult time celebrating Christmas now, and that's been going on for years. My family celebrations were etched in 50-plus years from family tradition that I've never been able to recapture since both parents have been gone. This year I'm choosing to do something different. I'm accepting that I can't ever bring "those feelings" back and it's okay. I asked my husband to help me celebrate differently this year. We're choosing experiences over exchanging gifts, putting up a tree, and our usual dinner fare. We did this over Thanksgiving and I had the best holiday spent in years. It was the first I didn't wakeup crying remembering my family was long gone... I think protracted grief from losing my mother and father have something to do with these feelings that happen around this time of year... I'm strong enough now to acknowledge and put them to rest for good. It's such an uplifting feeling to let this all go and accept what is. I loved this piece, it reminded me of days long gone, but you put a smile on my face instead of the tears I usually cry after reading about Christmas nostalgia.