Me: It was one of my Christmas presents.
Mr. Ginley: Whaaaa?
Me: What's the big deal? I was 18 at the time, so I was legal.
Mr. Ginley: Your parents got you a six pack of Genesee Cream Ale for Christmas?
A discussion ensued about the appropriateness of this particular gift. I said it was on my list, and no, I didn't think my parents were encouraging me to be an alcoholic. I just liked beer.
This segued, naturally, into a discussion about what else I received for Christmas. My memory was jogged by a photograph in which I was holding up a stuffed tiger and sporting brand new yellow slippers. Nothing too crazy there.
By that time, my sister had married, so it was just my brother Paul and me.
And what did he get? Well, it was the year before he got the Kan Klip, a device to hold his collection of pop cans. Which he kept in the garage, and which my dad, on more than one occasion, had toppled trying to get into the car to go to work (at 6:00 a.m.)
Although Paul would know better than I, his booty no doubt included a box of Cap'n Crunch.
I was interrupted here by Mr. Ginley, who said, "Let me get this straight. Your parents bought your brother cereal for Christmas?"
Yep. My mom refused to purchase the sugar-laden breakfast bonanza on a regular basis, not because it could rot your teeth from 50 paces, but because it was so expensive. Thus, it was a treat my brother enjoyed once (maybe twice -- birthday?) a year.
All of this made my husband's holiday gifts (socks and underwear, a winter coat, one banana bike) appear normal by comparison. This seemed to please him. In any family, normal is good.
This year, as I sit gazing at our own little tree, I'll be visited by many ghosts of Christmases past. I'll marvel at my mom's ability to decorate the house, bake cookies, and manage gift giving for a brood of six (later expanded to include many grandchildren). I'll toast my dad, who wrangled with a live tree for years, cursing under his breath and badgering us until he stood it up as straight as it could be, its worst flaws hidden in the corner. I'll imagine my parents sitting on the couch, armed with cups of coffee, watching us unveil our loot. I'll think about the early days of squirming through 6:30 a.m. mass -- we had to wait until afterward to open our presents. And the wrapped presents cascading from under the tree. Not high-priced mega gifts, but lots of this and that, enough to create wonder and anticipation.
Cheers to my siblings, nieces and nephews who've shared the holidays with me. And to my husband and son, who make the here and now merry every day.
And to my mom and dad, who live always in my heart. Wish you were here. No Genesee Cream Ale required -- I'm not much of a beer drinker anymore.
But I'm pretty sure Paul misses his Cap'n Crunch.
Merry Happy Christmas Festivus Hanukkah Kwanzaa Holiday to one and all!
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