Handling the 'Gimme' Season
I understood from a very early age that (a) Santa Claus doesn't have everything and (b) Daddy works in a factory and we don't have a lot of money. It wasn't presented as anything horrible, but it was a fact of life. I remember several nice Christmas presents when I was small: Patty Ann, my walking doll; some great stuffed dogs; a baby carriage, but mostly I remember coloring books and a new box of crayons and small gifts. And then there were the bigger gifts as I got older: my 12-inch black and white TV (so Dad wouldn't have the fantods every time I wanted to watch Lost in Space—he loathed Dr. Smith), my first cassette recorder, and my wonderful manual typewriter (part of which I had to pay for myself, but I didn't care).
But my fond Christmas memories are about visiting the relatives and playing Po-ke-no in Papa's cellar and driving around to see the decorations and lights, and baking wine biscuits and molasses cookies and almond bars and butterballs with Mom, and lying under the Christmas tree to look up through the branches or writing stories by its lights, and finding just the right thing for my mom and dad or best friend, and going to Mass and the big creche scene near the altar. The gifts received were only incidental; the best part was the celebration with people you loved.
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