A Christmas Story

I love this time of year with all of the over sentimental, heartfelt, television Christmas movies. I can’t help myself and I watch them every year, no matter how cheesy or predictable. Of course nothing beats the classics, passed down from generation to generation, like “Miracle on 34th Street” (“Faith is believing when common sense tells you not to.”), “It’s a Wonderful Life” (“Teacher says, every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings!”), or “A Christmas Carol” (“God bless us, everyone!”), the three enduring movies from which all other Christmas plots derive! They are timeless, their messages universal, regardless of age. However no Christmas is complete without the traditional viewing of the 1983 classic, “A Christmas Story,” one of my all time favorites! The story depicts a little boy’s memories of his most unforgettable Christmas. It's Christmas time and there's only one thing on Ralphie Parker's Christmas list: a Red Ryder Carbine Action 200-Shot, Range Model Air Rifle! Many obstacles stand in the way of Ralphie’s dream, mainly the adults in his life who keep telling him, “You'll shoot your eye out, kid!”

Christmas represents various contrastive things to many different people. However a common bond we often share are the obstacles that threaten our perfect imagined Christmas vision. For some, Christmas brings memories of hectic shopping for hard to find gifts and added weight gain from eating too many holiday goodies. For others it brings sadness of loved ones lost and memories cut short before their time.

For me, Christmas has always been a magical time of year. It has never been about the weather outside or the money we had (or did not have) to spend. It has always represented a time for unexpected surprises and the joy of family, gathering together in celebration of their love, just like on the first Christmas so long ago.

My own parents always made Christmas special. My mother spent many sleepless nights making doll clothes and hand sewn Christmas dresses to wake up to. I remember being blindfolded while she tried on the clothing she was making, so I’d be surprised on Christmas morning. There was always at least one special present on the tree from Dad, identified by the mini chocolate Santa’s he adored his gifts with. One year I asked for a chimpanzee, after seeing one as a pet on a popular television show. Realistically I knew I wasn’t going to get a “real” clothes wearing, people understanding, furry, monkey companion to share my life. However, I put it on my wish list anyway. I was so surprised and excited when my dad’s chocolate adorned Santa gift turned out to be a life size baby monkey, wearing little white shoes and sucking his thumb! He was a pretend stuffed animal of course, but my love for my dad was genuine!

One of my most unforgettable Christmas’s with our own children was in 1976. Our little boy, Cordale, had just turned three that year, and his baby sister, Aleesha, was almost 10 months old. Dale had spent many late nights after work making a wooden train with 12-inch cars that could haul cargo and seat mini Fisher Price people. He was excited for Christmas Day when it would surprise Cord from beneath the branches of our pink, snow flocked Christmas tree. (At my request Dale had hand flocked our little tree “pink” in honor of our new baby girl, just as our tree had been “blue” when Cord was born.) While Dale was reenacting Santa’s workshop, I was busy making a pink, bunting clad, soft bodied, baby doll and a blanket to go with the beautiful wooden doll cradle Dale had also made for our new little girl.

Our December activities also included an invitation to go to California with Dale’s whole family for his sister, Joanne’s wedding open house. Not wanting to miss out on the family occasion and a trip to sunny California as well, I finished weaning my nursing baby, who began taking a bottle after some concentrated effort, and flew my little coop, leaving our two children in the hands of my loving mother.

It was the third wedding that year in Dale’s family, a year of wedded bliss his parents would not soon forget. That December, following Joanne’s Utah wedding and reception on December 18th, we all caravanned to California for the groom’s open house celebration. We were all part of the wedding party!

Things were going well and we were all having a great time. Unfortunately, right before we were to leave for home I got alarming news from my mother. My baby girl, Aleesha, was sick and even my experienced mother was frightened and wondering what to do. Aleesha had a tight cough that sounded like a “barking dog” and it was unlike anything my mother had experienced before. I gave my mother the name of my doctor and she made an appointment immediately. Aleesha turned out to have “croup,” an ailment unfamiliar in my family, but one very familiar in Dale’s family, and one I would come to know well in the years to come. Croup features a cough that sounds like a seal barking. Most children have what appears to be a mild cold for several days before the barking cough becomes evident. As the cough gets more frequent, breathing often becomes very labored, a recipe for scary, worried nights and continuous steam ridden bedrooms.

Dale and I left for home immediately. Dale drove all the way while I prayed and kept my frightened state of mind busy by putting the final hand stitches on the baby doll for Aleesha’s Christmas. We arrived home to a very sick baby with instructions from the doctor to bring her to the emergency room for a breathing treatment if she worsened in the night. In the wee hours of the morning we made our way to the hospital where life saving medicine opened up baby Aleesha’s lungs. That night Dale made a tent like covering over Aleesha’s crib and elevated the top of her mattress, pointing the humidifier inside, creating a “steam tent” to relieve her breathing. I vowed I would study nutrition and find ways to help my children in times of illness. I never wanted to be in a hospital of sick babies fighting to breath again . . . not if I could help it! (Later we found out Dale’s sister’s baby daughter, Nicole, only four months old, had also visited the hospital with a severe case of scary croup as well.)

Christmas morning was definitely memorable that year. The quilted material doll blanket I had tied with yarn was neatly tucked inside the beautiful wooden cradle, concealing the blanket’s still unfinished edges. The wooden train was nestled beneath the tree, not yet sealed with protective finish to keep away the dirt. However, Christmas was magical, as we witnessed it through the wonderment of our three-year-old son, and rejoiced in the renewed health of our baby daughter. We were blessed to be a family and to celebrate His birth by giving thanks for our own children’s precious lives.

I hope that whatever is on your Christmas wish list this year finds a place under your tree and that they’ll be some fun surprises there too. Perhaps you’ll write a new “Christmas Story” in your family catalog of memories as well. Just remember, what ever your Christmas story is and whatever you do, “Don’t shoot your eye out kid!”

“I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year . . . God bless us every one!” ~ Charles Dickens