My first memory of Christmas was probably when I was 5 and my brother was 3. Mom and Dad had another couple over for drinks and fairly early in the evening my brother and I were sent off to bed. Well, mom and dad and their friends probably stayed up later then they should have, especially considering Dad had drawn early morning duty on the Navy ship he was stationed on. Like 5am early.
After their friends left, they got busy putting presents under the Christmas tree and that’s when they realized that “some assembly required” is a big fat lie that companies always say. I think my poor father was out in the living room assembling toys until 3am. He then went to bed.
Meanwhile, I had been tossing and turning and awake all night waiting for Santa to arrive. I probably dropped off to sleep but woke up when I heard my father getting ready for work at 4am.
I woke my younger brother and we barrelled out to the Christmas tree in the living room hollering at the top of our lungs, “Santa came! Santa came!”
And that’s when a new Christmas tradition was born. In all future Christmases, my brother and I were allowed to go out to the living room by ourselves and get our stockings and bring them back to bed where we were to play quietly until at least 7am. And my poor parents could get some much needed sleep.
