Every family has funny Christmas memories that are shared time and time again. These are some of my favorites.
Strawberry Shortcake was a big deal when I was a little kid. My parents didn’t typically buy us commercial toys, but I had heard about her from my older cousin. Of course it was difficult for “Santa” to find the doll, but eventually my parents did.
They were all excited Christmas morning as I was opening my presents. I opened the package, turned over the box, and nonchalantly said, “Huh. Santa shops at JCPenneys, too!”
My father has a cruel sense of humor at times. My sister and I would wake up early Christmas morning and rush out to the living room to see what kind of a pile Santa had left for us. We were never allowed to touch the presents, though, because Santa always had to artistically arrange them, and Daddy needed to take pictures. But Daddy wouldn’t come out to take pictures until he had woken up. But his idea waking up involved what we later called the “3 Sh’s”: Shower, Sh–, and Shave. He made me nuts as a kid!
We were, however, allowed to peek in our stockings. It just wasn’t the same as diving into that pile of presents. And what is ironic, my father still needs to perform the “3 Sh’s” before we do anything!
Related to the second of the “3 Sh’s” is what I was calling my sister one particular year. I had just turned 16, and of course all I wanted was a car. She makes a big production out of having a special gift for me, and hands me a small box. I open it up, and inside are car keys. I jump up for joy, thinking the Corsica is officially mine! She slyly smiles at me and tells me that my real gift is in the car.
I cursed her out under my breath. I still don’t remember what the real gift was. But the Corsica did become my car when I turned 18.
As my sister and I got older, my parents didn’t try as hard to wow us with wrapping presents and creating a picture perfect display under the tree. One particular year, they didn’t even get around to wrapping the presents. Christmas morning, my mother goes out to the store (we lived at our furniture store) and comes in bearing two black garbage bags. She sheepishly hands us each one and apologizes for the tacky wrapping job.
At first, my sister and I weren’t sure what to do. We finally turned it into a stereognostic game. One would pull out an unwrapped gift, and the other would have to try to find hers without looking. Mom was big on giving us identical gifts, or at least the same gift but in a different style or color. I don’t think we have used wrapping paper in almost two decades!