Hi, Pat Davids here.
I thought I would share with you a moment from my Christmas Past.
It’s Christmas Eve and I’m eight years old in 1960. My four brothers and I cluster on the windowseat peering into the darkness for a glimpse of Rudolph’s red nose in the sky. He has to be coming soon. I can’t wait much longer.
My dad, a farmer, has gone out to check the cattle just as he does every night before bed. Mom is washing supper dishes. Suddenly, she pulls aside the curtains at the kitchen window, looks out and says, “I believe it’s time to go upstairs.”
Finally!
Giddy with excitement, all five of us kids race upstairs to my room and pile onto the bed. There is no heat in the upstairs of that old farmhouse, but we don’t care. Santa is coming.
No one dares look out the windows. If Santa sees you peeking he won’t stop. My mother has us all kneel around the bed and pray for children who won’t have a happy Christmas. As I dropped to my knees, I wonder how that is possible. Christmas is so magical. I sneak in a prayer for some gift I really want from Santa, but I pray for other children, too.
Our prayers done, we huddle on the bed again. Outside, our old dog begins barking like mad. Sleigh bells jingle in the distance, then closer, then WHOMP!
Santa is on our roof. Reindeer stomp as he calls out, “Ho, Ho, Ho!”
I press my hands to my mouth to hold in my excitement. Soon, I hear the rattle of packages being placed under the tree downstairs. Santa shouts out, “Merry Christmas!”
Then all is quiet. No bells, no barking dog. Just as I am about to explode with anticipation, I hear my dad come in the house. He yells, “What’s all that racket? Kids, come see this!”
I tell you it is a true Christmas miracle that none of us were killed as we bolted over each other in a race down those stairs.
I open my presents with joy. There is peanut brittle candy and an orange for each of us. Beneath the tree I find a beautiful baby doll in a pink wooden crib. It will be a few more years before I appreciate the care my father put into making it for me. I just loved it.
When the presents are all opened, and the hubbub dies down, it’s time to get into our best clothes. The church parking lot is full when we arrive. The light glows beautifully through the stained glass windows onto the snow as we head inside for Midnight Mass.
I know that I’ve come to welcome the baby Jesus into the world.
And that was Christmas when I was eight.
Do you remember a special Christmas from when you were small? Share the story with us. We'd love to hear it.
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