You paint a picture that walks - no, kaleidoscopes - me down memory lane. One of my earliest Christmas memories is of gazing out of the window at my grandmother's house, waiting for parents, who had been delayed by heavy snow, to arrive. I could have been no older than three, yet remember so well being enthralled by the diamond-glistening of the snow on my grandmother's road, just as I remember the warmth of the fire roaring in the fireplace, the glad arrival of my parents and the doll with blonde hair which, because of her "suntan," my dad swore must have been a bleached-blonde Brazilian.
Christmases came and went. Our real trees were exchanged for something silver, toys started to do things and parents complained that they were stifling imagination. Barbie and etch-a-sketch would belong to my sister and brother, younger than me by seven and twelve years respectively, while I moved on to make-up, miniskirts and boots as presents of choice. And then... my own children were born, we had a real tree every year and to heck with the needles. We bought a doll the same height as my young daughter, stuck batteries in it and led it by the hand, causing the daughter to shriek in fear and the doll to be forever consigned to the back of her wardrobe. One year, I bought a chess computer for my husband. It took the thing a day or two to think of its next move, but that was cutting-edge back then in the Seventies. I bought a chemistry set for my oldest girl, only to be told by friends, families and neighbours that this was a boys' toy and I should be buying my daughter still more dolls, nurse's outfits and the like.
In the blink of an eye, my own girls were asking for make-up, handbags and --- a tool set. I congratulated myself that Christmas for raising my kids to be whatever they wanted to be. And now, here we come full circle. We are back to buying girls' toys and boys' toys for little grandchildren - a doll here, a Tonka toy there - and are trying to see the world through the eyes of children who are still delighted by the diamond shimmer of light on the snow.
Thank you for prompting me to look at almost sixty years' worth of Christmases. It has been quite a walk.
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You paint a picture that walks - no, kaleidoscopes - me down memory lane. One of my earliest Christmas memories is of gazing out of the window at my grandmother's house, waiting for parents, who had been delayed by heavy snow, to arrive. I could have been no older than three, yet remember so well being enthralled by the diamond-glistening of the snow on my grandmother's road, just as I remember the warmth of the fire roaring in the fireplace, the glad arrival of my parents and the doll with blonde hair which, because of her "suntan," my dad swore must have been a bleached-blonde Brazilian.
Christmases came and went. Our real trees were exchanged for something silver, toys started to do things and parents complained that they were stifling imagination. Barbie and etch-a-sketch would belong to my sister and brother, younger than me by seven and twelve years respectively, while I moved on to make-up, miniskirts and boots as presents of choice. And then... my own children were born, we had a real tree every year and to heck with the needles. We bought a doll the same height as my young daughter, stuck batteries in it and led it by the hand, causing the daughter to shriek in fear and the doll to be forever consigned to the back of her wardrobe. One year, I bought a chess computer for my husband. It took the thing a day or two to think of its next move, but that was cutting-edge back then in the Seventies. I bought a chemistry set for my oldest girl, only to be told by friends, families and neighbours that this was a boys' toy and I should be buying my daughter still more dolls, nurse's outfits and the like.
In the blink of an eye, my own girls were asking for make-up, handbags and --- a tool set. I congratulated myself that Christmas for raising my kids to be whatever they wanted to be. And now, here we come full circle. We are back to buying girls' toys and boys' toys for little grandchildren - a doll here, a Tonka toy there - and are trying to see the world through the eyes of children who are still delighted by the diamond shimmer of light on the snow.
Thank you for prompting me to look at almost sixty years' worth of Christmases. It has been quite a walk.
December 14, 2011 - 10:15amThis Comment
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