Christmas Memories
My first real Christmas memory was in 1978, when I was four years old. I looked in box which was sitting inexplicably in the middle of the living room floor of our Princeton, WV home, and saw two Star Wars action figures--a jawa and a tusken raider (it also said "sandpeople" on the box, which even then I remember thinking was odd that you'd call a solitary figure "people"). They weren't wrapped. I don't know why.
I've always loved Christmas, probably just because I had great memories of snow and CBS holiday specials from my younger days. I was as greedy as the next spoiled kid, but I loved the magical air of it all. That, in a way, is actually sad and ironic, because Christmas was originally a celebration of Christ's birthday, whatever the actual birthdate was. I don't want to debate on the existence of Christ, either--for me, there's no debate. However strange it may seem, it happened. In the deepest chambers of my soul I know the truth. But throughout time there is the pagan side of the holiday--the tree in the house, all that shit. I don't really look at it that way. I enjoy the holiday season because you can do different things, even FEEL different things, than you feel the rest of the year. My mom and stepdad, Archie, used to string popcorn and put it on the tree. Our Christmas tree was always a thing of immense beauty, healthy and robust. It sat in front of our living room picture window (this is after I moved to the Beckley area), and anyone from the road would look across the pond in the front field and see that tarted-up pine tree staring them proudly in the face.
Too many memories. Too many. December 1978, the same year of the jawa discovery, was a defining moment. On December 17th, Emmett Otter's Jug Band Christmas debuted on HBO. It stands out as the best of all Jim Henson's muppet productions because of Paul Williams' (little Enos on Smokey and the Bandit) great songs and the unique flavor of the show. Emmett and his mother, Alice, are poor. Pa has been dead for a while and they have no money to afford a nice present for each other. I'm not going to rehash the story (especially since I'm writing this for myself and I already KNOW the story), but when my stepfather died in 1991 the show, which has always been special to me, took on more poignancy. Why do I remember the show's debut date? My grandmother called during the show to tell my mother that my Grandpa Tom had died. So maybe Emmett Otter is my grim reaper. Whatever. He died in his bedroom. (My grandpa, not Emmett Otter.)In 1989, my family moved into that house. That same room is where my stepfather died. If my mom dies in there I'm going to set the son of a bitch on fire. But I digress.
A Christmas Story. Everybody loves A Christmas Story. I have to mention it. Also, for some reason, I associate the movies Annie (with Albert Finney, Carol Burnett, Tim Curry, and Aileen Quinn) and Johnny Dangerously (w/Michael Keaton, Griffin Dunne, and Joe Piscopo) with Christmas. Yes, I saw them both around Christmas, but I saw a lot of movies at that time. Those just stand out.
Toys. You know what? My life has been filled with Star Wars stuff. I still have some of my stuff from those days, albeit stored away. I don't decorate with it or play with it (prostitutes are much better for that these days--only kidding. Maybe.), but I sure played with that stuff a lot when I was younger. I had a shitload of it. Maybe I'll go into it later, as a matter of inventory.
Also, He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. I had a great deal of that, and my first MOTU toy was Ram-Man, which I received in Christmas 1982. The same night I saw Annie on HBO, as it turns out. I got a lot of swag for Christmas when I was little, and because of my great imagination, I was endlessly entertained with all of my stuff. I also took very good care of my things.
I used to visit my dad in nearby Holly Hills every Friday after my parents got divorced, and I remember one Christmas (I think it was either '81 or '82) he got me an Atlanta Falcons vest, which has always been in my mind for some reason. He also got me a little fuzzy dartboard with balls instead of darts that just stuck to the board. One of my best memories is when he brought me home with that stuff. As I came through the front door I was spellbound by the house. Our house was humble, but still nice. It was shingled with cedar or some similar kind of siding. There was a healthy, smooth blanket of snow outside and we had big Christmas bulbs around the front of the house. Basic colors--blue, orange, red, green. The look of those colors on the snow has never left me. I feel like I could have died right there and everything would be okay. The wonders of the world mean far less to me than that serene sight when I got out of his truck and crunched my way through the front yard. The pond was fairly frozen and regal. There was that unique winter wind, which I suppose has a particular sound when it's blowing over snowy terrain. I wish you could have been there, whoever might accidentally read this. I can still see it, and it is still Beauty without peer. Inside the house, most of the lights were off except for the Christmas tree lights and candles and Christmasy lights like that. A special evening. I believe that was Christmas eve, somewhere between '81 and '83. I felt like a lucky apparition in some wonderland.
Finally, I am perhaps most fond of all of December 23, 1988. That was a day I spent with my best friend, Mike Bailey. To try and describe him is a waste of time. He always reminded me of Jeff Bridges, for some reason. On December 22 we were in a play at Akers Baptist Church, over which his father, Ardeth Bailey was and still is the pastor. That night we headed back to his house, armed with the brown paper goody-bags that the church handed out that night at the end of the program. The next morning, Mike and I went Christmas shopping with his older brother, Heath. What a great, great day. I bought Helloween's "Keeper of the Seven Keys, Part II" and a couple of comic books (I think some X-Men stuff). We were out all day. That evening, on a whim, we popped over to the Raleigh Mall (this all occurring in Beckley, of course) and watched Hellbound: Hellraiser II (a wonderful movie for the Christmas spirit). I bought a large, gaudy bat ring at a kiosk in the mall and Heath dropped us off at my house. That night, right before midnight, we walked across the road and up just a bit to the parking lot where the post office and a convenience store were located. It was drizzling sleet, we were bored and should have been in bed, and we walked about talking. I looked at my watch after a spell and saw that it was past midnight. Merry Christmas Eve, I told Mike. He wished me the same.
I've always loved Christmas, probably just because I had great memories of snow and CBS holiday specials from my younger days. I was as greedy as the next spoiled kid, but I loved the magical air of it all. That, in a way, is actually sad and ironic, because Christmas was originally a celebration of Christ's birthday, whatever the actual birthdate was. I don't want to debate on the existence of Christ, either--for me, there's no debate. However strange it may seem, it happened. In the deepest chambers of my soul I know the truth. But throughout time there is the pagan side of the holiday--the tree in the house, all that shit. I don't really look at it that way. I enjoy the holiday season because you can do different things, even FEEL different things, than you feel the rest of the year. My mom and stepdad, Archie, used to string popcorn and put it on the tree. Our Christmas tree was always a thing of immense beauty, healthy and robust. It sat in front of our living room picture window (this is after I moved to the Beckley area), and anyone from the road would look across the pond in the front field and see that tarted-up pine tree staring them proudly in the face.
Too many memories. Too many. December 1978, the same year of the jawa discovery, was a defining moment. On December 17th, Emmett Otter's Jug Band Christmas debuted on HBO. It stands out as the best of all Jim Henson's muppet productions because of Paul Williams' (little Enos on Smokey and the Bandit) great songs and the unique flavor of the show. Emmett and his mother, Alice, are poor. Pa has been dead for a while and they have no money to afford a nice present for each other. I'm not going to rehash the story (especially since I'm writing this for myself and I already KNOW the story), but when my stepfather died in 1991 the show, which has always been special to me, took on more poignancy. Why do I remember the show's debut date? My grandmother called during the show to tell my mother that my Grandpa Tom had died. So maybe Emmett Otter is my grim reaper. Whatever. He died in his bedroom. (My grandpa, not Emmett Otter.)In 1989, my family moved into that house. That same room is where my stepfather died. If my mom dies in there I'm going to set the son of a bitch on fire. But I digress.
A Christmas Story. Everybody loves A Christmas Story. I have to mention it. Also, for some reason, I associate the movies Annie (with Albert Finney, Carol Burnett, Tim Curry, and Aileen Quinn) and Johnny Dangerously (w/Michael Keaton, Griffin Dunne, and Joe Piscopo) with Christmas. Yes, I saw them both around Christmas, but I saw a lot of movies at that time. Those just stand out.
Toys. You know what? My life has been filled with Star Wars stuff. I still have some of my stuff from those days, albeit stored away. I don't decorate with it or play with it (prostitutes are much better for that these days--only kidding. Maybe.), but I sure played with that stuff a lot when I was younger. I had a shitload of it. Maybe I'll go into it later, as a matter of inventory.
Also, He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. I had a great deal of that, and my first MOTU toy was Ram-Man, which I received in Christmas 1982. The same night I saw Annie on HBO, as it turns out. I got a lot of swag for Christmas when I was little, and because of my great imagination, I was endlessly entertained with all of my stuff. I also took very good care of my things.
I used to visit my dad in nearby Holly Hills every Friday after my parents got divorced, and I remember one Christmas (I think it was either '81 or '82) he got me an Atlanta Falcons vest, which has always been in my mind for some reason. He also got me a little fuzzy dartboard with balls instead of darts that just stuck to the board. One of my best memories is when he brought me home with that stuff. As I came through the front door I was spellbound by the house. Our house was humble, but still nice. It was shingled with cedar or some similar kind of siding. There was a healthy, smooth blanket of snow outside and we had big Christmas bulbs around the front of the house. Basic colors--blue, orange, red, green. The look of those colors on the snow has never left me. I feel like I could have died right there and everything would be okay. The wonders of the world mean far less to me than that serene sight when I got out of his truck and crunched my way through the front yard. The pond was fairly frozen and regal. There was that unique winter wind, which I suppose has a particular sound when it's blowing over snowy terrain. I wish you could have been there, whoever might accidentally read this. I can still see it, and it is still Beauty without peer. Inside the house, most of the lights were off except for the Christmas tree lights and candles and Christmasy lights like that. A special evening. I believe that was Christmas eve, somewhere between '81 and '83. I felt like a lucky apparition in some wonderland.
Finally, I am perhaps most fond of all of December 23, 1988. That was a day I spent with my best friend, Mike Bailey. To try and describe him is a waste of time. He always reminded me of Jeff Bridges, for some reason. On December 22 we were in a play at Akers Baptist Church, over which his father, Ardeth Bailey was and still is the pastor. That night we headed back to his house, armed with the brown paper goody-bags that the church handed out that night at the end of the program. The next morning, Mike and I went Christmas shopping with his older brother, Heath. What a great, great day. I bought Helloween's "Keeper of the Seven Keys, Part II" and a couple of comic books (I think some X-Men stuff). We were out all day. That evening, on a whim, we popped over to the Raleigh Mall (this all occurring in Beckley, of course) and watched Hellbound: Hellraiser II (a wonderful movie for the Christmas spirit). I bought a large, gaudy bat ring at a kiosk in the mall and Heath dropped us off at my house. That night, right before midnight, we walked across the road and up just a bit to the parking lot where the post office and a convenience store were located. It was drizzling sleet, we were bored and should have been in bed, and we walked about talking. I looked at my watch after a spell and saw that it was past midnight. Merry Christmas Eve, I told Mike. He wished me the same.
posted by Tom at 2:42 PM
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