The Christmas Program.....I was so proud

Darrell, my only son, was nothing less than a handful as a very young boy. I suppose in today's world, he would be drugged with Prozac or some other "calming" medicine for overly active (now known as ADD) kids. When he was at his "best", if you get my drift, we simply dealt with it using old fashioned parenting. He knew who was "in-charge" but never stopped testing the waters to see how far he could go. Today, as a grown man, he is one of the most mellow people I know. So let me tell you about the Christmas program.

I don't recall the year, but it was during the Christmas holidays. We lived in a small community where most people were active participants in in their religious practices. My husband and I were not. However, we allowed our kids to participate as much as they chose. They did just that, attending Sunday school and other programs for kids at the church. As most Christians do, a program depicting the birth of Christ was planned with the kids playing the various roles needed. Darrell was to be one of shepherds. Rehearsals went on for a few weeks before the night of the program. That day arrived, the program planned for early evening. I helped the kids get dressed for the parts they were to play; Archie and I loaded them into the car and off to the church we went.

Darrel was dressed in his little plaid robe and I had used a white flannel diaper to wrap around his head. With a borrowed wooden cane, he fit the part perfectly. I'm sure I wasn't the only Mom who tried to encourage her child to do his best, but to remember he would be in the church and he had better behave...or else!

We arrived at the church rec center, a little nervous to be around all these people who took their faith so seriously, hoping the roof wouldn't cave in from the shock of our attendance. However, our apprehension was quickly dissipated by the warm welcome we were given. I escorted the kids backstage where their teachers would make last minute preparations. A welcoming speech was given to announce the evening's agenda, lights were dimmed, chatter stopped and the curtain opened. Cameras flashed from proud parents as their darling children performed their parts to perfection. Knowing the story well, I knew it was time for the shepherds to appear. Two came from stage left, reverent demeanor intact. Silence. No action. I was holding my breath, waiting for the third, who should have been with the first two..namely, Darrell. It seemed an eternity passed when suddenly, like a bolt of lightening, Shepherd no. 3 came stumbling over his own feet from stage left followed by the long arm of his teacher who had obviously had to shove him onto the stage. There he was in all his glory, little plaid robe open, barely hanging onto his shoulders, exposing his Micky Mouse T-shirt, the white diaper head dress holding onto his head by one ear....my face burning hot and crimson, eyes bulging in disbelief. As I was thinking, "Why me, Lord"? the room burst into loud and hysterical laughter which seemed to last forever while I sat there horrified, imagining people judging my child rearing abilities. The laughter died, the play continued to it's finish while I was trying frantically to find a plausible answer for this humiliating disruption to this otherwise holy story.

I admit, no one said a word which was a relief. Following the program, the kids were surprised by a visit from Santa, himself. Parents and Grandparents sat in their chairs as the kids lined up, waiting for their turn to sit on his lap, give him their wish list and receive the bag of candy he had brought for each one. It was fun to listen to those innocent little angels and watch the awe in their eyes while sitting on that lap. Then came Darrell's turn..........still askew in his dress, he climbed onto Santa's lap. Santa asked the question.."And what would you like to find under the tree, young man"? Without hesitation, my precious child answered, "I already know what I'm gettin', I saw in my Mom and Dad's closet"! More laughter, more red cheeks from Mom.

It was a wondrous night..................I was so proud.

A Long Ago Saturday of Holiday Shopping

It all started with several weeks or months of saving, planning and anticipation. "The" December Saturday arrived with a burst of sunshine, extra bright as it reflected off the glistening snow blanketing the landscape, then flowing right through the crystal clear icicles hanging gloriously from the low eaves of the roof. As luck would have it, the sky was blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds way to high to worry about walking through a snow storm during the walk to downtown.

As with most mornings, breakfast came first; thick slices of homemade bread, toasted to perfection, a couple of fried eggs and a big glass of the ice cold milk which had just been delivered by that handsome young Milkman on our route. Since going downtown to shop was a big deal for anyone in the fifties, getting "ready" was as important as the shopping itself.

The claw foot tub was filled with water, hot enough to make my butt cheeks rosy without actually scalding my tender young skin. I would settle into the warm water, bubbles courtesy of shampoo, (actual bubble bath was a luxury) rising to my chin as I daydreamed of the fun Vash, my best friend, and I would have that day and of gifts I would buy with the twenty or twenty-five dollars burning a hole in my pocket. Using the Ivory soap and a good rough textured washcloth, I scrubbed myself until my skin was shiny, finishing up with a double shampooing of my hair; had to shine, you know. Bathrobes were for movie stars, so panties and a bra had to do while I put the goop on my hair to hold it into place until it dried, brushed my teeth, combed my eyebrows with a little Vaseline, brushed on some cake mascara, and finally, applied the white/pink lipstick all the girls were wearing then. Soon someone was pounding on the door for their turn, so I wrapped myself in my damp towel, going to the tiny bedroom I shared with my sisters to get dressed.

Since it was a Saturday, and cold to boot, I wore my only dressy slacks, which were not allowed at school, a sweater borrowed from a friend (everyone borrowed clothes) and my precious T-Strap shoes which I knew, but didn't care, would leave my feet freezing. Socks were for sissies. I visited with my siblings and Mom while I waited for my hair to dry enough to go out into the cold for the walk to Vash's house. At 10:00 AM I arrived at her back door (couldn't use the front..it would doom her to be an old maid, according to her superstitious Mom) and was warmly greeted by her parents while she finished making her bed. She finished, we were off!

Winter in Pocatello was harsher in those days, so the walk downtown was like walking through a Courier and Ives post card. Thick blankets of snow on roof tops, icicles hanging from the eaves, white smoke rising from chimneys; boys bundled in heavy coats, hand knit mittens and hats, having snowball fights in the park; little kids in snowsuits making snow angels in their front yards while their Fathers hung Christmas lights; high school boys on their wooden sleighs, hooky-bobbing behind their buddy's hot rod. Sometimes even a girl in Junior High would be lucky enough to get a wolf whistle as those "older" men whizzed by on the snow covered streets. Funny how the beauty of this picture was lost to us at the time.

The walk from home to downtown was probably a little more than a mile, passing quickly as we chattered and giggled about boys, school mates and other things long forgotten. As we went into the Center Street underpass, we knew we were almost there.... for waiting on the other side was downtown and mysterious treasures for our shopping pleasure. Vash, list in hand, knew exactly what she wanted. I, on the other hand, preferred the adventure of "spur of the moment" decisions.

I can still feel the thrill of coming out of that dark walkway through the underpass, seeing the Christmas decorations along the streets, hearing the sounds of holiday music coming from the shops, and watching people, carrying their beautifully wrapped gifts as they hustled along the sidewalks from shop to shop.

There was The Peoples department store, Blocks, Adair dress shop, Woolworths five & dime, (where we got the most for our hard earned dollars) The Paris, a dress shop to die for, where there was never more than one of any dress style, and where every high school girl in town bought her prom dress..if she was lucky enough to be asked to attend. There was a Lerner's shop; a jewelry store where you could buy the very much in fad, dog tag everyone had to have AND get it engraved with your name, all for a buck; the drug store with a soda fountain for the cherry coke you just had to have, along with all kinds of special knick-knacks, costume jewelry or perfume that would thrill your Mom to no end on Christmas morning; the music store with sheet music and the latest 45 records, by Elvis, Fabian, Bobby Darin, Paul Anka, Connie Frances, and all the other great rock and rollers of that time, which you could play before buying (while dreaming of dancing with the boy who wore YOUR dogtag 'cuz you were "going steady"). And of course there was the little mom and pop cafe where Vash would always insist on buying Fish and Chips for our lunch, knowing I couldn't afford it but loved that special treat. She was such a special friend!

We would hit every shop, buy our gifts, enjoy each other's company and the festive cheerfulness surrounding us everywhere, then, after hours of this fun and frivolity, walk back through that dimly lit underpass to our respective homes to wrap and tag those precious gifts, content with the knowledge that we had completed our once- a -year Christmas shopping trip, looking forward to the excitement and activities of the next two weeks until the Big Day arrived.

Those simple and stress-free days, when less truly was more, are a treasure to those of us who lived them. Everyone should be so blessed in their life experience.

May the Holidays bring much joy and happiness to all. Yes, indeed......Life is good!