Holidays always bring back memories, whether good or bad, real or altered. I try not to dwell on the memories best forgotten, but focus on the ones that bring joy. There’s always a little bit of joy in every memory if you dig deep enough.
My very earliest memory of Christmas is when I had just turned four. Daddy thought it was a wonderful idea for me to leave my bottle under the tree for Rudolph. Egads! Yes! At four I was still attached to that bottle and even remember making it myself. That was probably because my mother was busy making bottles for my little brother. I can imagine her saying, “If you want it, make it yourself.”
I’m sure at the time this was one of those not-so-happy memories with me tugging in one direction and Daddy pushing me in the other. Waking up Christmas morning, my bottle had disappeared from under the tree. Rudolph had won the battle and had warm milk for a late night snack. Was I happy for him? I don’t remember. Probably not. I wonder how long it took Daddy to convince me this was for the best.
The joy in this memory is all my mothers. She had one less chore on her hands of keeping up with bottlesfor a four-year-old.
What’s your earliest Christmas memory?
I think back now and this must have been the last Christmas we spent in Oakdale before the great homesteading adventure, because I was four when we set out on that journey to Alaska.
You can read about the Alaskan homesteading adventure in Coffee-Drunk or Blind on Amazon in print or Kindle editions.