Christmas from my childhood perspective . . .

When I look back on the Christmases of my childhood, I don't remember specific gifts so much as the anticipation of waiting for the day to arrive. My mother was born and raised in Germany so we celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve after attending Midnight Mass. I always felt sorry for the children who had to wait until Christmas Day to open their gifts not realizing that by the time we got home from Midnight Mass, the time difference was mere hours.

I not sure I was a most worshipful child but I realized that attending Mass, first, was the path to the tree and gifts, afterwards. Although I was only a child, this discipline has stuck with me and I'm a stickler today about doing what must be done before we get to do what we'd like. That doesn't mean I didn't like attending Midnight Mass. I mean, how often does a child get to stay up that late? That in itself was a momentous moment. No matter what the California weather was during the day on December 24th, it was always cold as we headed out to church. Yes, I remember fighting back yawns and struggling to keep my eyes open in the cozy warmth of the church and candle glow but it seemed the choir would burst forth in wonderful music at opportune moments sufficient to wake me totally back to the Mass at hand.

Although I have long since figured out how she did it, I will never admit that I now know the way we managed to arrive home to find the tree alight and the presents in place. My mother claimed the angels saw to it and the gifts would be tumbled into place in different way every year. My favorite year was when they presents all looked like they had been hurriedly tossed through the window and were scattered all over the sofa and floor. My mother claimed the angels got a late start and we almost caught them at it! Naturally, I raced to the window in hopes of glimpsing a fluttering angel wing fleeing in the night.

I don't have my mother's touch but hope that the little events I gave my children over the years will provide them with some memories. Once the baking starts and the rustle of paper is heard as we each hurry to secure our surprises, my mind goes back to another day when I was the child.