The Most Memorable Christmas
By TreAnna B.
My most memorable Christmas occurs at the nice tender age of ten. It was the one year my parents could hardly afford anything for Christmas. Of course, at my age I did not know that. I simply believed that since I had been a good girl, Santa would bring me my gifts, and I would have a few from my parents of course. However, I soon found out that this would not be an ordinary Christmas.
I climbed into the front seat of my nana’s white Chevy Impala, triumphant I had won the race against my sister, again. She was ready to take us out to our house. Before we had even pulled from the drive she said, “You girls need to wear something nice tomorrow night.” Ever the tomboy my sister asked, “A dress?” Smiling mischievously Nana replied, “A dress would be nice.” My little sister, Karissa, screwed her face up in disgust. “I don’t like wearing dresses!” “Then wear something nice. Without holes, rips, tears, stains…” She continued to list what all we didn’t need to wear, including pajamas and summer clothing. Finally she stopped and we drove in silence for a while. “Why?” Ever the curious one, I just had to know. We never dressed up “nice” unless we had to go to Sunday school or to a relative’s house that I’ve never heard of before. “The fire department is coming by tomorrow.” “Oh.”
She pulled up into our yard and my sister eagerly jumped from the backseat. “Why?” Once again I asked the same question, with the same level of curiosity. “They’re going to drop off some gifts for you three, since things have been…” She searched for the right word. Perhaps maybe one I would understand or perhaps simply one that wouldn’t make things sound too bad. “tight.” She finally said. I nodded and jumped out of the car. “I’ll be back to pick you after I come back from Citronelle.” “Okay. Love you.” “Love you too, Bradley girl.” I kissed her and she drove off.
For the rest of the day I kept trying to think of something I could do for the firefighters that were bringing us “presents”. By the next day I had thought of something. It was a simple little thing. A hand drawn card. I hid it in the cleaning cabinet until Nana told me it was once again time to go. This time, however, there was no racing to the car. I had no one to race against. I simply stood beside the cleaning closet, trying to decide if I really wanted to take the card to the nice firefighters who were delivering our goodies. As Nana grabbed her keys, she called for me again, “Are you ready, TreA?” “Coming.” I gave the cabinet one last glance and then walked away. I was too shy to get the card, and it would seem stupid anyway. Ten year olds didn’t give cards to firefighters, even if they were bringing presents. That was such a six year old thing to do, and I didn’t see Olivia, my youngest sister, doing that.
My house always lacked the grace and décor of other homes. We lived in a double-wide trailer. The white walls bore the scars of our young artistic signatures and the carpet was stained in too many places from juice or spaghetti when we had ignored Mom as she warned us not to eat in the living room. Still, it was home. A quaint Christmas tree rested itself in the center of the room, but still off to the side. It was decorated with ornaments that dazzled, sparkled, twisted and twirled. I was mesmerized every time I saw that tree. The rest of the living room was like out of a novel, that is if it was a cheap room filled with handmade ornaments from an elementary school and cards collected from over the years.
The firefighters from the VFD finally arrived; I sat on the couch quiet, acting like a perfect little girl. Then came in one, then two, then three, then four, and each was carrying gifts. I watched as they made two then three trips out to their truck. Finally one yelled, “That’s it,” and several took off. Two or three remained and talked to my mom, who sat in her chair. She could still walk around, but it was difficult for her.
I helped move the presents under the tree, smiling each time I found one marked “Ten” or “Ten-year-old.” I didn’t care it didn’t have my name on it. It was for me. As I arranged the presents, I listened to my mom and the two remaining firefighters, a man and a woman, talk. “We really do appreciate this.” My mom replied. “You’re welcome,” replied the man. “Anything we can do to help.” “We’re glad we could,” added the woman.
They continued to talk about people and places and times I couldn’t remember and honestly really did not care about. All I cared about was the shiny packages calling my name. There were square ones that twinkled, and round ones that sparkled. Long ones, wide ones, narrow ones, skinny ones, fat ones, and unwrapped ones. All for us. I looked at the three dolls, left unwrapped and up front. Even through the plastic of their containers, their faces glowed, eyes twinkling.
The firefighters left and my sisters and I approached our mom. “Can we open one, please?” It was December twenty-second. We really didn’t expect our mom to agree, but after looking over the gifts she gave us a choice between a skinny flat one and a plump soft one. I took the soft, my sisters the skinny. When I unwrapped mine, I found a pair of purple gloves, my favorite color. My sisters sported green and purple dog diaries.
The next day was the same thing, “Mom, can we open a present?” “Why don’t you choose one of the dolls?” “Those aren’t presents!” I said indignant. “They aren’t wrapped!” “So,” my mom responded, “It’s still a present, wrapped or unwrapped.” Grudgingly I agreed with her and picked a doll, the same one my sister wanted. We fought over it for a few moments before my mom took the matter into her own hands. “Riss, why don’t you want this one? It has really shiny eyes. And sleek brown hair.” “No!” screeched my younger sister. “I want that one!” She pointed at the one I held in my hands. “But this one has such a pretty dress! And what nice coloring! It’s a real antique!” My mother’s web soon wrapped me in its spell. I knew she was just trying to entice my younger sister, but I felt a twinge of jealousy. “You can have this one.” I tried to shove the doll into her hands. “I want that one.” However, seeing that I no longer wanted the doll, she decided she didn’t either. She wanted the one Momma had. I handed my doll to Momma. “Is this one pretty too?” Momma nodded her head. “Of course. Just like you are.” I smiled.
My mom continued to allow us to open up presents, two or three a day until Christmas, when we finally got to finish opening up the rest of them. I walked away with a lot of stuff that year. Stuff I didn’t really need and let’s face it, probably didn’t really deserve, but I was ten, so in my eyes it was stuff that I did deserve. I had been good all year and the firefighters were just helping Santa deliver everything early.
