The Voice of Christ
The Catholic Online Magazine
When I went to bed on Christmas Eve the house looked the same as it did on any of the 364 days that led up to it. There was no Christmas tree, no decorations, nothing hung by the chimney with care, it was just another night. I knew that all would change by dawn and that magically Santa would transform the house into my personal wonderland.
This was Christmas 1955 and it was the last year Santa Claus came to visit me as a kid so I have vivid memories of the events of Christmas Day but only recently did I learn of the events on Christmas Eve.
My father did not embody the spirit of Christmas so it is with some head scratching that I try to understand the how’s and why’s of this Yuletide metamorphosis. Most parents who assist Santa only go so as to set out the milk and cookies. My dad worked for a dairy so Santa had eggnog, possibly with a sidecar of whiskey, at our house instead of that lame glass of milk that Santa got everywhere else. In addition to the libations, my dad also set up the train, decorated the tree, and provided all the presents. This included some major assembly work for the train and some of the gifts that had to be in one piece for appreciation by a 7 year old.
The gifts were stashed at the homes of various relatives and the tree was locked away in a shed under the rear porch of the house. Around 7 O’clock on Christmas Eve my father would start the ritual off by climbing into the attic and ringing sleigh bells. Mother told me this sound of bells was to alert children that Santa was in the area and that I would have to be in bed and asleep before he could deliver the many gifts I had asked for. Despite a state of heightened anticipation I was soon fast asleep: possibly with the help of my father’s eggnog.
After erecting the 4’ x 8’ train platform and setting up the tree stand my father went off to collect my presents from the relative’s homes. I’m sure that each of the brothers and sisters insisted he pause and have a glass of cheer as well so by the time father had rounded up the gifts he was in the spirit of the season and many of the season’s spirits were in him as well.
Meanwhile, back at the home on Saw Mill Run Blvd. my mother was attempting her part of this daunting task. It was her job to bring the tree into the house and put it in the tree stand. Together they would decorate it. All went well until the tree was ensconced in the stand and the heat from the gravity furnace went to work on it. It seemed that an outside Tomcat had been using the tree for target practice as well as for a territorial marker. Once the heat hit the tree there were tears in her eyes; and not from joy. The house was filled with an Eau D’ Kitty bouquet that had to be experienced to be fully appreciated.
My father returned around midnight to find the tree outside in the snow and my mother cursing the entire cat population of Overbrook. Father, feeling none of the effects of the cold and snow was informed that he would have to go out and get another tree. My dad’s brother, Ed, sold Christmas trees from a de facto nursery in back of his house in Whitehall. I did mention that it was snowing? This was long ago in a time when it actually snowed in the winter. I toss that sentence in for the benefit of my 14 year old son who tells me he can’t remember a snow of any consequence during his lifetime.
So back out into the night went father. He arrived at his brother’s to find that Ed had burned the few remaining trees that he hadn’t sold. The sale of Christmas trees is a strange business. The holiday is the same time every year, people bought the same number of trees (one) but some years you ate a lot of pine needles and some years you were sold out days before the big night. With no trees to pick from and no other likely sources available to him Father, armed with a small bow saw, turned the headlights of his 1953 Plymouth towards a snow covered field and went of in search of a tree; and at this point any tree.
Pine trees grow real close to the ground, that is to say their branches are not all nicely trimmed, ready to plop into the tree stand; pines have lots of gnarly old dead and dying shoots that must be cut away before one can even attempt to fell the tree. A snow covered tree offered even more of a challenge to my father; each pull on the bough or thrust of the saw blade deposited yet another plop of snow on this unwilling woodsman’s head and shoulders. In a reasonable period of time though the deed was done and dad plodded back to the car with most of the 6’ spruce in tow.
Oh but the fates had yet another surprise in store for my dad. The idling Plymouth, with it’s low off the road profile, succeeded in melting the snow underneath the car. Snow melted and ran off into the ruts made by the wheels only to become ice. When he was done wrestling the tree into the trunk he found the wheels would only spin when the gas pedal was depressed. I remember getting stuck in snow in cars with the old differentials. One wheel would spin; when you got something wedged under the one wheel to stop the spinning the other side would start to spin. This is the reason God allowed man to invent Positraction differentials and eventually 4-Wheel Drive. Dad and his brother hauled sand and gravel down to the car and succeeded in establishing traction and getting the wheels out of their ruts. After a moment or two of thanking the Lord he was once again on the road.
For this one brief moment it must truly have seemed like Silent Night, Holy Night. Alone in a snow covered field on Christmas Eve, the task at hand accomplished, too old to cry and too wise to drink (anymore); what a time to reflect. I hope he used this moment as I would have; but I’ll never know.
The rest of the trip home was uneventful. Snow fell and accumulated to 6 or more inches. The tree was erected, decorated and mother and father went to bed around 4:30 AM. I awoke around 5:00 AM.
…”Hey Mom, Hey Dad, come down and see what Santa Claus brought me.”
Happy Christmas
Robb Trappen
© 2002 The Voice of Christ
