I had to think.
There have been so many, everyone unique.
Was it the time I sat by the window in my darkened bedroom and waited to see Santa arrive? I remember opening the window just a crack to listen for his approach. It was a cold, crisp night in my hometown of Redford Township and even just a crack was too much. The frosty air seeped in and made me shiver. All the same, I waited, and waited. I listened for a sign. And then I heard what I thought might be sleigh bells. They were coming from just down the street. I was sure it was, (could it have really been?), Santa. Suddenly I remembered that Santa knew if you sleeping and knew if you were awake. I panicked. If I was awake and waiting, he would know! No gifts! I scrambled to my bed, pulled the covers over my head and soon, miraculously, I was asleep.
That might have been the last time I remember really believing is Santa Claus.
But then maybe it was the time that I flew home to surprise my mother at Christmas. I had been living in Southern California for over two years. I had been back to Detroit a couple times to visit. And my mother and brother had come out to visit me once. And we talked on the phone weekly. But it was a time I was already feeling the tug of family while trying to find my own life on the west coast. The need to go home became acute when my grandmother told me that my mother was very ill. Cancer. Terminal lung cancer. Not much longer.
I had to go home for Christmas.
I was a poor college student working at JC Penney nights and weekends. When the folks at Penney's heard of my plight, the department manager took up a collection of funds and arranged for me to have the time off as the Christmas rush died down...Christmas Eve. I nearly lost it when the travel agent had trouble getting me a flight home, but finally it all fell into place. Some friends brought cookies to the airport for me to take home. I remember it all so clearly on this Christmas Eve...every Christmas Eve actually.
And I made it home in time. And my mother was totally surprised. She nearly leaped out of her chair at my grandmother's house when I walked in from the snow and wind. "Bobby!" she exclaimed. "Bobby, you came home!"
It was the best Christmas present I was ever able to give her...and she me. And the last.
Christmas Eves come and go. The last few years have been quiet. Church services and maybe a quick tour of Christmas lights. Sometimes a drink or light supper with friends. My family of childhood is all gone now. I have a new family built of friends who are precious to me. I know we choose our friends and are "assigned" our blood relatives. I have been very lucky in both.
This Christmas Eve I am fortunate to remember them all. I guess that is my favorite part of Christmas: the memories new and old. The people who have been in my life and the people who are there now: that is one of the meanings of Christmas I cherish. The Christ child came to teach us that and it a lesson I re-learn every Christmas Eve.
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