Christmas Love

Each year, like children, we eagerly await the advent of another Christmas holiday season. We promise ourselves that this one will be different, that this one will be the best yet; no overspending, less emphasis on material things, more attention to the true meaning of the holiday.

Unfortunately, each year we always seem to backslide into our old familiar habits; shopping mania, hustle, bustle, hassle, and a massive buildup of stress, debt, and personal dissension.

It's difficult for most of us to recall the simple, uncomplicated, and seemingly innocent Christmas' of our youth, but how many times have you reflected back to see if you could find that most memorable Christmas?

For myself, I think it would have to be what I refer to as "the year of the lights."

I was eight years old and living with my native American grandmother. We weren't exactly a well-off family, nor could we be considered a middle class family. The truth be known, we were just about as poor as a family can be and still be around to tell about it.

Our ramshackle home had no electricity, no indoor plumbing, very little coal to heat the cast iron stove and chase away the bitter cold, food on occasion, and a rather big shortage of love. We had no need for windows because the cracks in the single board walls were wide enough to see just about everything outdoors.

That Christmas I decided that I was just plain tired of old Saint Nicholas passing by our house as if it didn't exist. I figured there had to be a way to get his undivided attention, a way to flag him down and drag his jolly fat carcass down our stove pipe chimney.

My young mind chewed on this thought for days on end without coming up with a favorable solution. Finally, in desperation, a few days before the big event, I decided to make a Christmas tree in our front yard, or what passed for a front yard. I knew it could never match the beauty of the Christmas tree down at the drug store, in fact, I'd be lucky to find a tree at all.

With the ingenuity and imagination that most children are gifted with, I cut a three foot cedar tree off the land of our neighbor to the south and dug a deep hole in the front yard to place it in. I made the hole a little too deep and the bottom part of the tree was under the dirt, but I figured that didn't matter as it would only lend more support to the tree.

Over the next several hours I used my school notebook paper to cut out stars, and made colored chains with loops of paper and crayons. After draping my best made ornaments on the tree, it still didn't look quite right.

My sister noticed it and let out a deep sigh of regret. It was her idea to string popcorn on sewing thread as they supposedly did back in the good old days. When my "Santa Magnet Tree" was finally finished, I have to admit, I was rather proud of my decorative efforts.

Unfortunately, like the biblical saying, pride goeth before a fall. The next morning I found a dozen or more hungry blackbirds had feasted on the popcorn in my little Christmas tree and their excitement at such an unexpected gift had torn my wonderful little tree all to shreds. Charlie Brown would have been proud of what was left.

To say I was angry and despondent would be the least of my sorrows, for without my "Magnet Tree" Santa was sure to bypass our house again that year.

I guess our neighbor across the fence to the north must have witnessed the depths of my depression because she came out and clucked about how the nasty old blackbirds had demolished my beautiful work of art.

I can't remember her real name but everyone called her by her Native American name of Toopsa-Tawa (which meant short marriage). I never questioned the name because at the time I didn't even know what marriage really meant.

The great thing about Toopsa Tawa was that she was very rich. She had electricity, running water, a car, a television set... she was just plain rich, at least from my poor point of view. She then surprised me by giving me a string of electrical lights to put on my little tree and she ran an electrical cord through her window to plug it in. To say the least, it was totally awesome!

No! Santa did not come again that year but I don't think I really missed his jolly face. My little, though somewhat mangled Christmas tree, stood as a shining beacon for everyone in my small world to witness. My sister had placed a small nativity scene in the dirt at the base that had given me greater inspiration.
I figured if Santa Claus was too busy to visit on Christmas, at least the little Lord Jesus would look down on our shining tree and hopefully bless our family with love. Who knows, maybe our mom would visit us again!