MY MOTHER’S
CHRISTMAS TREE
By
Norman V. Kelly
It was Christmas Eve, 1938 and I was six
years old and lived in a little cinder block house is a subdivision called El
Vista out in the county of Peoria, Illinois. In all, thirteen family members
lived in that house, three of them younger than me. You know it’s funny but no
matter how hard I try this memory is the only complete Christmas memory that I
have.
The young ones including me talked about and worried
over the fact that we had no Christmas tree in the house and Christmas was just
one day away. Now how was Santa going to find our house if we didn’t have a
brightly lit tree to guide him? The fact that my parents did not have money to
buy a tree and all the pretty lights did not register with us. No, our only
thoughts were Santa and that missing Christmas tree.
Just before dark, two men came to our door. I can
still see them as they brushed snow from their jackets, smiling, wishing us a
Merry Christmas. The four of us stood back grinning ear to ear because we knew
that they were bringing us something very good. They were from the county
relief offices and as they sat the two baskets on the floor we crept closer to
see what wonders they had brought. Once they left we gathered around our mom as
she lifted each apple, orange and candy cane up for us to marvel over. My, what
a joyous sight!
Our older sister finally trundled us upstairs to bed.
We slept in an unfinished attic dominated by a crooked chimney in the center of
the room. The four beds managed somehow to shelter us during the stifling
summers and miserably cold winters. I remember getting up and finding a fine
spray of snow on our floor and beds. One
vivid memory I have is waking up hearing my mom cranking ashes from the stove
we had in our living room. Soon after
that sound we were up hugging the warm chimney until we were certain it would
be warm around the stove when we went downstairs.
Since we had no indoor plumbing at all, except the
cold water faucet over the kitchen sink, winters were not exactly our favorite
time of year when we were really young.
That Christmas Eve our sister read Christmas stories
to us and reminded us that even without a tree Christmas morning would still be
a wonderful day. She told us about the food, pies and cakes and Christmas
candies we would have. With those thoughts we fell asleep.
Christmas morning we trooped downstairs and when we walked
into the living room…we saw it! We stood
together at first, mesmerized by the spectacle of our beautiful Christmas
tree. Almost as if we were one we moved
forward, looking at the tree then each other.
My mother had covered the front door with white
sheets, hanging and folding them in a truly magical way. Red and green and
yellow Christmas lights crisscrossed the sheets from the ceiling to the floor
in a beautiful array of colors. Strings of brightly colored popcorn zigzagged
about the sheets and on each string hung silvery pieces of glittering tinsel. Behind
us most of my family stood watching us as we pointed up at the candy canes that
hung from the strands of lights. On the floor carefully situated in the folds
of the sheets were three little sheep and the three wise men gazing into the
crib of the baby Jesus. On the wall hung four large white stockings jammed with
oranges and apples and small sacks of Christmas candy. After all these years
that Christmas morning is still vividly etched in my memory even down to the
song on the radio, which was playing, “O Holy Night.”
I looked over at my mother expecting her to be as
happy as we were, but she was crying. Now why was she crying? We had our tree, Christmas was here and we
were happy. Of course I didn’t
understand then why she was crying…but I do now.
Editor’s
Note: My friend DeWayne Bartels and I
wrote quite a few stories together and I miss him dearly. He loved my Christmas
stories and I dedicate this story to him and the wonderful memories of him as
my friend. Merry Christmas Pekin,
Illinois. norman.kelly@sbcglobal.net
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