That was then, this is now...

Again, as I sit and see the load of gifts under our tree, I realize that Alex and I are pretty well off. In fact, I'd say we spoiled each other this year. And that's okay because it's just us and we take care of each other. But I remember feeling this way every year, even when outside observers might say my family was poor.

In retrospect, we were poor. If you only looked at income vs. cost of raising 6 kids back then, we would fall well within the national guidelines for the poverty level. But my parents were from a time when the things they had were treasured and frivolous things didn't matter at all. We had everything we needed and there was always something extra at the holidays. My Dad owned a popular bar and restaurant back then. Kelly's Tavern stood at the corner of 7th Avenue and 46th Street. It had a steady stream of regulars who spent their weekends either sitting on a bar stool or tucked away in a booth enjoying our fabulous fish fry or hand dipped fried chicken. My mother, who taught second grade Monday thru Friday, was the "chief cook and bottle washer" on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.

At the holidays, we'd go out and pick out our tree. Usually it was me and my Dad that did that. We'd try to get one that met everyone's specifications and wasn't too bald in the middle. Inevitably, we'd find one that we thought was perfect but, once home, needed all kinds of support and creative decorating. More than one Kelleher tree was shored up with a tie to the curtain rod to ensure it didn't take an untimely tumble. It took two untimely tumbles to teach us that!

My Mom would bring out the two large chests of decorations. One was filled with tree lights and ornaments, neatly stacked and put away from last year. The other held our crèche. For years, our crèche was a large manger made from particle board. Each shepherd, Magi, lamb, Mary and Joseph were made of the same. We gently set up each beautifully aged piece, a corner bent from tiny eager hands, an ear missing from the camel. It was tattered but such a tradition that we looked forward to it every year. Once the house was decorated, presents began appearing under the tree. Something from one of my sisters, a box or two from my Dad, the little things I would wrap up. The tree always looked amazing covered in tinsel with shiny bows peeping from underneath.

Christmas Eve, back then, was a late night affair. We were Catholic and so we could not eat before receiving Holy Communion at Midnight Mass. My mother would put out a large smoked salmon early in the day. It was always huge and had an olive for it's eye. It was a thing to behold sent over from my Dad's fish supplier, Globe Fisheries, each year. We'd nibble on it for part of the day. After Mass at Midnight, we'd walk home in the winter cold and snow to begin the real festivities. My Mom would start cooking the minute she got home. We'd sit under the glowing tree and sing Christmas carols. We do this to this day. Then we eat. Cheesy eggs and potatoes, kishka and kielbasa, home made Cinnamon rolls, cookies, and more! We still have these same foods. Some traditions are meant to be forever and kishka is one of them! Now our meager meal of gifted fish and sausage probably doesn't sound glamorous but it was a feast and it was ours. We identified with that meal so much and still do to this day.

Mostly, our gifts were practical. New clothes, new shoes, socks, undies, etc. but my Mom always made sure that we had something fun too. For me, the little kid there would be  doll of some sort or bike and the "older"kids would get whatever it was that they wanted too. Somehow, in spite of their work schedules and our overall low income, my parents always managed to make our Christmases magical. I think the biggest difference, as I look back, is the many, many presents I get now. Santa still visits my home each year. There is always something good in my stocking. Nowadays, it is usually loaded with candies. But back then, candy was a treat and we only got a little bit in our stockings. Yet our stockings were always full! We'd each get a banana, an orange and an apple, and a bag of salted peanuts in the shell. And one chocolate Santa! That's about all on this blustery winter day.

The glory of Christmas, through the eyes of someone who should have known better...

I was a really good kid growing up. Seriously, it never occurred to me to skip school, ever. In high school, I was always pretty much where I told my parents I would be. There was one exception when my friend and I took her parents' car and drove to Michigan to see Iggy and the Stooges. She told her parents she was sleeping over at my house and I told mine that I was staying overnight at her house. But honestly, other than that one time I was a perfect kid in high school. My mom still doesn't know to this day about that trip!

When I hit college I realized that the professors were not really paying much attention or even cared whether or not I was in class. The responsibility to go was all mine so if I missed a day no one was calling my mom. This was a new found freedom. Another new thing for me was...the availability of, shall we say, substances that I was previously unaware existed. Yes, I'm talking about drugs. There was a time, in my college years, that I imbibed in some illicit and illegal drug activity. It was recreational in nature and never really went farther than that, thank heavens! And, to be honest, there were times when it taught me a lesson or two as well.

Case in point -
I was at a pre-Christmas party at my friend Michael's apartment. Michael was a great guy! I loved his silly sense of humor and flamboyant ways but he was also a genuinely kind, caring human being and I loved him for that. So, there we were at his party drinking bad cheap champagne. We got a little buzzed and the party decided to all go out dancing. So off we went with our fabulous 80's clothes and hair-dos. We were so full of our own fabulousness!! We danced and drank more and smoked a little pot. Then someone passed me a tiny bit of paper and told me to place it under my tongue until it dissolved...so I did. It didn't take much of an arm twist for me to be convinced. In the next minute or so, the club was closing and we all just went home. I was wide awake and no where near ready to just go to sleep. I was convinced that the tiny bit of paper did nothing to me. Back at Michael's place, the tree was lit up and shining beautifully. Michael and I laid down with our heads under the tree looking up at the lights. It was amazing! Then I realized how cool my teeth felt when I touched them with my tongue. Then the Christmas music started playing in slow-mo and everything was magical. It was slightly less magical the next morning when I woke up, smelling like a bad brewery, cold and with a killer hang over. Michael and I had fallen asleep under the tree in a drunken, acid induced stupor. Every muscle in my body ached and my head felt like someone had pressed it in a vise all night long. Sunlight seared through my retinas as if I was a vampire. I limped to my car, drive quietly home, claimed to my parents that I was coming down with the flu and crawled into my bed for the next four hours. That was my first and last trip and though I'll admit some of it was spectacular the aftermath was definitely not worth it. Never again. Never.

I prefer the glory of Christmas through clearer eyes, thank you!

I think Santa was looking the other way....

My mom was a teacher for almost 30 years. She taught Second Grade at St. George Elementary School. It was a Catholic school where we kids all went. None of us had her for a teacher though because that would have just been weird.

Every year at Christmas we would go down to the Woolworth's and pick out something fabulous for our teacher. I clearly recall there were several consecutive years where my teachers all received a rather large plastic Pink Poodle bottle full of some smelly bubble bath. It was a big bottle for the money so I thought it always looked like I was really giving them something great! I think it cost .99 cents at Woolworth's!

In our family, being the big group that we are, there were and are always a ton of presents for everyone. But no one got more gifts than my mom. She had an additional 28 kids giving her gifts each year. On the last day before Christmas break she would bring bag loads of unopened gifts home and place them under the tree. This was her booty from her students and I, for one, was always envious and a wee bit curious as to what was in there! Somethings were easily discerned. Usually a round tin contained some kind of home made concoction, probably fruitcake or dry Christmas cookies. If we were lucky there would be fudge in there. A cubed shaped box probably contained some kind of ornament for the Christmas tree. We could always tell when she got a lot of coffee mugs and perfume. And there was one unmistakably shaped box that could only come from one place in the world - Fanny Farmer Candy Co.!!

One Christmas, my nephew John asked Santa for a set of Legos. In mid-December, as the gifts started piling up under the tree, our curiosity got the better of us. We saw one package that we were pretty sure was the Lego set. We'd gently kick it, poke at it, flip our finger over a wayward piece of tape...but nothing happened. Then one day we just couldn't take it anymore. We snatched that package and hid under the desk in the other room far away from the rest of the family. We carefully opened the wrapping so we didn't tear it and quietly slipped the Lego set out. We cautiously opened the box and started playing with the Legos. We did this for a while and then just as stealthily put it all away again. The next day we did it again. On the third day, my mom had brought home all of her goodies from school so when we nabbed the Lego set we nabbed the Fanny Farmer Candy box too. Without thinking twice, we carefully, gently and meticulously unwrapped the candy and the Legos. We played for at least an hour and ate every single piece of candy out of that box! We put all the inner paper wraps back in the box and re-wrapped the whole thing and got it back in my  mom coffer before anyone could see us!

That Christmas Eve as we opened our gifts, John did his best to look super surprised that he got his Lego set. But no one was more surprised than my mom when she unwrapped the gift from one of her students, saw that it was Fanny Farmer Candy and opened the box to share it with us only to find that there was not one single crumb of chocolate in that box! John and I said nothing. Mum's the word! It wasn't until years later, when we were both adults, that we ever told anyone what we had done. When my mom heard this she laughed and laughed. All those years she thought the little second grader who gave her the candy ate it himself!

Giving from the heart...

One year at Christmas, when I was about four years old, I told my mom that I wanted to give each person in my family something special for Christmas. She said that was a good idea. I pointed out to her that I was only four and had no income which was going to make gift giving difficult for me. My mom told me, and this is a lesson that I hold dear today, that only those gifts that come from our heart mean anything and those types of gifts didn't have to cost much or anything at all. In fact, she said, sometimes giving someone something that is special to you, because it makes you happy, make the gift meaningful.

So I spent a good week or so looking around and thinking about what I really loved and what of what I loved would my siblings love too. There were my toys, of course, but I couldn't see any of my older siblings getting a kick out of getting my old toys wrapped up under the tree. Besides, I liked my toys and I wasn't sure I was all that ready to part with them. There were my books too but the same rules applied. And, as the baby in a family of six, most of my books had been their books at one time or another already. Gifting them back seemed redundant.

Then one night it came to me. One thing we always did when we were all together was have dinner at the dinner table together. My mom would cook up a big meal and we'd sit and eat and talk and laugh in the warmth of the kitchen. It was  special time and the most special thing, in my humble four year old opinion, that my mother cooked for us was her home made mashed potatoes. Now, being Irish, I am a potato freak! Love them! Boiled, fried, baked, mashed, chips, hash browned - it doesn't matter - I love them. And so it came to pass that on Christmas Eve, when I was just four, my sisters and brother and Dad all unwrapped a big beautiful potato. They all thought it was funny but I thought it was the perfect gift. I was giving people I loved something I loved, just like mom said I should do.

Mom chuckled too. Until she opened her present from me. It was a spatula. Dad helped me pick it out. Apparently while I enjoyed identifying my mom as a world class cook she would have rather had some bubble bath or nice perfume. Go figure!

The Christmas my Dad blew my mind...

There used to be a store in Kenosha called Wilson's Variety Store and variety was the operative word! You could get anything in Wilson's! Laundry detergent, hardware, new lamps, mops, buckets, clothing, toys, food - you name it, they had it. They even had small pets in the back and a Myna bird that flirted with the ladies. It was one of those places that if my Dad said, "I'm going to Wilson's!" I would beg and plead to go with him every time.

At Christmas, Wilson's was like something out of a kid's greatest dream. Just as you entered, to the left, they set up shelves full of toys that went up to the ceiling. On the other side they had aisles of ornaments, wreaths, ribbon, wrapping paper and anything else you might need to deck the halls. So it was no wonder when that one wintry day just before Christmas I was begging my Dad to take me with him. We were putting up our tree and discovered that the star we used to use year after year no longer lit up. It had reached the point of no return and it was time to go purchase something new to top the Kelleher leaning greenery. Off to Wilson's! Hurrah!

Now, my Dad was what you might call a "slow" man. By this I mean, he ran on his own time and activities that took anyone else a half hour to compete could take my Dad a couple of hours. He called it being thorough. This annoying habit gained him the nickname "Father Time" from my Mom. His lolly gagging drove her crazy! But, at Wilson's, with my Dad, I didn't care if it took all day! Especially at Christmas time!

When we entered the store I immediately asked if I could go look at the toys. My Dad, being the nice guy he was, naturally allowed me to wander through the toy aisles and look at everything. There were games and puzzles and cool paint sets. But the best aisle of all was the Doll aisle. It was an entire line of shelves that was devoted to nothing but dolls of all kinds. There were the new Barbies and those dolls that were called Flatsies that were insanely popular back then. All of Barbie's friends were there too. And then there were the baby dolls - big, little, boys, girls, infants, toddlers - some cried when you turned them over, some drank from a baby bottle, some even wet in their diapers. I was in awe. But then I saw her. At the end of the aisle, there was a doll that was almost as tall as me. Her hair was a golden blond and she was wearing a paisley dress and patent leather shoes with little white socks. Her name was Kathy. And her talent was that if you held her by one hand and walked somehow she would walk right next to you. It was amazing because she didn't have batteries, no off/on switches, no remote control - just walked with the natural motion of you walking next to her holding her hand. Oh, how I wanted her!!

I ran back to the Christmas aisle where my Dad was looking at each and every kind of tree topper. I nonchalantly asked him if he had found one yet. He hadn't so I started looking at them too. He was looking at stars but there was a row of beautiful angels that caught my eye. I picked one up. She was golden and white and held two tiny lights in each hand like they were candles. I showed my Dad and told him that this was the best one. He agreed and put her in our cart. We headed for the check out and he asked me if I had seen anything good in the toy section! Are you kidding me? He never asked me stuff like that! I told him all about the doll that walked, how pretty she was, how tall she was and how badly I wanted her. I showed him the big box she came in and held her out in front of me hopeful that he would put her in our cart. He didn't. Instead, he said, "Well, she is pretty but we're  just here to get the tree topper." Reluctantly, I put her back on the shelf. My Dad, sensing my disappointment said, "Well, maybe I have enough money to get some popcorn on the way out."

Now, Wilson's fresh popped popcorn was the best popcorn in town and they sold it in long paper sleeves. It was always warm, salty and buttery and normally I would jump at the chance but in my disappointment all I could muster was a weak, "Okay..."

Back at home, I tried to be sullen and sulky and bad tempered but it was the Christmas season and we were decorating our tree and I just couldn't contain the inner excitement for very long. Pretty soon I was humming carols and helping put ornaments on the tree. My Dad placed our new angel on the tree and plugged it all in. She was gorgeous. She lit up and the gold thread in her gown shined in the light. Every night after that, when it was dark enough inside and out, we would light that tree and I would lie on the floor just dreaming in the glow. By Christmas Eve, Kathy the walking doll was a distant memory. That night there were so many presents under the tree it was impossible to feel sad! We ate and sang and started opening and I got so many amazing things! After Midnight Mass, I crawled into bed, exhausted from the fun, food, and festivities and fell into a deep, comfy sleep.

The next morning my Mom woke me up and said that Santa had come. Under our tree, there were more presents. Santa never wrapped his presents. That's how you knew for sure they were from Santa. Our stockings were set on the small pile of Santa gifts and we were allowed to just "dig in". Christmas morning did not have the formalities of the previous night. We ate the candy from the stockings even though it was 8AM and played with everything under the tree. Finally, my Mom would insist that we at least get dressed so off to our rooms to change from our PJ's we went. I walked into my room and right there, lying on my bed, was Kathy!! Somehow, that doll not only made it to  my house but made her way into my bedroom! It was Santa! I was sure of it. She wasn't wrapped and that made it so. I grabbed her and ran out to my Dad yelling, "Dad! Dad! Santa heard me!!"

My Dad just smiled. It wasn't until a few years later I realized that Santa and my Dad were one and the same. At least that year they were. I believe in Santa. And I believe that Santa is whoever carried the joy of Christmas in their heart and surprises children with those things they love so well.

The big box...

One Christmas, when my brother was in the Air Force and stationed in Thailand, an enormous wooden crate arrived at our house about ten days before Christmas. It was not unlike the enormous wooden crate that the Father in A Christmas Story gets when he wins his "major prize" leg lamp. My Mom, being a stickler for tradition, had my Dad put the box right under the Christmas tree. I begged and begged to open that box. I reasoned that it was probably Christmas presents and he certainly would have individually wrapped each one so even if we opened the wooden box we would still have the surprise of opening the wrapped gifts on Christmas Eve. My Mom was unmoved. She had no way of knowing if anything was wrapped in there and she wasn't taking any chances.

So that thing sat there for the next ten days like some kind of mysterious rune in the living room. And there was no peeking inside this thing either because it was neatly nailed shut. It was torture. I mean, what did he send all the way from the strange, unknown land of Thailand!? All I knew about Thailand was that it was once called Siam and the only reason I knew that is because my Mom and I watched Deborah Kerr and Yul Brenner in "The King and I" on television once. It all seemed very exotic and odd and to a 11 year old girl it was almost too much to bear!

Now Christmas Eve at my Mom's house is a very time tested tradition. Certain activities are meant to happen at certain times of the evening and that schedule was not to be changed. As we began gathering together and my siblings arrived from their homes my Mother would already have appetizers out on the upstairs living room table. There would be cheese, sausage and crackers, crab dip and liver paté, there would be Chex Mix - the Yuletide standard of snacks. There was also punch. The punch bowl would hold the alcoholic version and there would be a pitcher of non-alcohol for us kids. On every end table there would be red and green M&M's, ribbon candy and Christmas cookies. There would also be bowls of nuts with a nut cracker by each bowl. I don't remember anyone but my Dad ever eating those nuts! We would all get our appetizers and settle in somewhere in the living room while my Mom would be down in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the real meal. Before Vatican II (for the Catholics reading this) our meal would never be eaten before Midnight Mass. It would consist of an egg dish, some kind of potatoes, kielbasa and kishka. After Vatican II, we would eat before Mass. The Christmas of the big box was after Vatican II. After we had just about eaten all the appetizers up, my Mom would finally emerge from the kitchen and tell us dinner was ready. Again, traditionalists as we were and still are, the meal was the same as in the early days - eggs, potatoes, kielbasa and kishka. We added Italian sausage soon after and with the addition of home made cinnamon rolls this meal has been unchanged for my entire life. We ate and ate until we could eat no more. Then the big fun started.

We would all find a comfy spot and the Christmas song books would be handed out. We would start at the beginning of that book and sing all of the carols right to the end. The only verse we ever skipped was the "nails, spear, shall pierce him through" verse of What Child Is This. My Mom couldn't stand to sing that verse on the even of celebrating Jesus' birth because it was all about his horrible death. So we skipped it, and happily so, because what we really wanted to get to was the opening of the presents. FINALLY - it was time. For most of my childhood, I played "Santa" which meant I had to crawl around under the tree and hand out gifts. This was no small feat for a family of our size and, honestly, it made me exhausted! There was a trick to handing out the gifts. I had to be sure to give one  gift out to each person so everyone had a gift to open at the same time. It was rude to have someone sitting there waiting for a gift while someone else in the room was opening two or three! My own gifts I would pile up out of the way and open them all at once when I was finished. I doled out the family gifts and was hoping that my Dad would now open the wooden box but my Mom had other ideas. You see, she was a second grade teacher and she would bring home a truck load of gifts from her students so before we could do anything else she decided to open each and every one of those gifts. IT TOOK FOREVER!!! She held them up for all to see and we, appropriately, oohed and ahhed over every scarf, box of candy and bottle of smelly bubble bath she received.

At last, it was time! My Dad got his hammer and opened the top of the wooden box. In it was a ton of excelsior - that stringy stuff used to cushion long distance packages. He dug through and, sure enough, there was a bevy of beautifully wrapped gifts - one for each of us! Except for me - he sent me THREE!! My parents got a set of intricately carved royal figurines and a tusk that sat behind them. This was in the days when ivory was still legal and I liked to believe it was real but it was soapstone. I opened my first box and there was a set of water colors and paint brushes in it! The second box had two canvases and a real easel! I was so excited I couldn't wait to open the third box! I eagerly tore off the Thai Christmas paper and opened the top of the box. I could see there was some kind of a statue in there but realized it was a bank! There was a slot on the top of it's head. I carefully pulled it up and out of the box and what did I see?

It was a large, pot bellied squirrel wearing a hat and it had enormous boobs and a penis!! I'm not kidding!! This is what my brother sent his 11 year old sister!! I just about died when I saw this thing. My parents laughed so hard they got tears in their eyes. Everyone passed this thing around in disbelief! What the heck could he have been thinking??

As it happens, he wasn't thinking at all. He came home a few months later on leave and I asked him why he had given me that strange thing. He said, innocently, "It's a bank!" Well, yes, it was. I went and got it from  my room and showed him and he just about fell off the chair. He never even realized it had boobs and a penis! He  just thought it was a cute bank that I would like! That's my brother...never really paying full attention to anything!

I kept that crazy thing for the longest time. It was just too weird to get rid of. I think it finally broke one day when my Mom was cleaning out my closet but it was quite the conversation piece, I tell ya!

When I think back on my Christmas memories, they all have some element of wonder and awe and the year of the huge wooden box sure had it. The anticipation of Christmas is a lot for a kid to manage so having a mysterious box arrive just put it right over the edge.