I don't like Christmas, primarily because my family hasn't really been into it for years and I sort of lost out on the whole "family gathering" warm fuzzies that most people have. My grandparents died when I was pretty young, and the natural course of events resulted in that the different "factions" of the family splintered off and did their own thing. It happens, but when you're not even quite into adolescence, you grow up feeling like you missed out on something.
Anyway, boo hoo for me. I don't like Christmas season. Whenever I tell people this, I'm usually met with shock, disgust and confusion. I've been forcing myself to feign enjoyment and involvement for Punk's sake, but I'm a Grinch at heart.
But my favorite Christmas memories involve my grandfather. After my grandmother died when I was 9, he kind of (as I best understand it as an adult) tried to take over both roles, which for an old Navy vet was no easy feat. Every winter before Christmas I would go to his house, and we'd make chocolate buckeyes together. (For those poor souls who are unfamiliar, or not lucky enough to be from the great state of Ohio, you can find out what you're missing here).
My dad and grandparents, ca. 1967We'd cook them over his gas stove and listen to Christmas music and he'd talk about Grandma, and get teary while he did it. When you're about 10, it's kind of awkward and uncomfortable, but I really miss hearing him tell stories about her, about as much as I miss her.
While we were waiting for the chocolate to melt on the stove, I'd go dink around on Grandma's old organ in the back room of their house. I took piano lessons from ages 6-15, and I did pretty well for my age, I guess. I was doing more advanced stuff by the time I was 9 and 10. And I remember, as the house started to smell like chocolate, he would come back and show me on the keyboard, hen pecking with one finger, how to play the opening line of "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas".
He'd teach me the same opening line every year like it was the first time I'd ever been shown what a piano keyboard was. Maybe he forgot he'd shown me before, or maybe he was unaware I could play piano, and pretty well. But I think he just liked having that chance to show me something, on Grandma's organ. For a little bit, it was like we were hanging out with her again.
Looking back on my childhood and adolescence, I sat through hundreds of hours being instructed on the piano how to play nocturnes and overtures and everything in between by Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, Schumann, Chopin, Debussy, and Gershwin; and my most missed memory of lessons is Grandpa leaning over my shoulder, hen-pecking those eight notes, and so proud to be showing it to me.
All through college and even still, I make buckeyes every Christmas season, and I'm looking forward to Punk being old enough to "help" me in another year or two. It's just what I do. It's my communion with two people that I really, really miss, and feel like I got robbed of a lot of time with sometimes.
So yeah. I'm a bitch about Christmas. But it's just because I think about memories like this and I just really, really miss them.
2 comments:
I love your memories and I'm forever glad you have them. They loved you to death and I'm glad you know it. Grandpa looked forward to making buckeyes with you every year -- probably as much as you. I only wish you and Grandma had started a tradition you could call your own. For me, it's making divinity. She and my Grandma Smith made divinity every Christmas Eve. I can't make it because it always fails, but Sue is really good at it. She got the Louise gene that seemed to escape me.
I'm with ya. That's a great memory to hang on to.
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