What It's All About by Joe DeRozier

Dave and I would tear down our checker patterned hall, wearing only our pajamas that we had outgrown the previous year.

It was 6:00 am... Of course, Dave and I had already been awake for over an hour.

We were early risers, anyway, but today...

...today, was Christmas morning. Starting at five am, Dave and I crossed that checker patterned hall every 10 minutes into Mom and Dad's room.

Mom possessed that sonar "mom hearing" that always jolted her awake when we entered their room, while dad pretended to sleep, hoping we'd leave...

...but we were seven and eight, sooo...

"Now?" we'd plead with mom.

"No, boys. Your dad is tired. Let him sleep until 7 am."

Negotiations took place between ourselves, and our very tired mom, until a compromise was met.

"You can go to the Christmas tree, but do not turn on any overhead lights, and don't touch anything."

That compromise worked for us, knowing there would be further negotiations 10 minutes after we stepped foot in that magical room.

Our tree was a real tree that we grew in our backyard.

Mom and Dad had planted several of them years earlier for this singular purpose.

This made our Christmas tree that much more special.

I remember Mom pruning and shaping the tree throughout the summer, so it would be perfect for Christmas.

The smell, and the pine needles are things I'll never forget.

That piney scent gently wafted throughout the house, and Mandy, our Collie/Shepard would continuously knock needles on the floor with her tail.

For the previous three weeks, our home was filled with Christmas music from morning until nightfall.

The voices of Brenda Lee, Bing Crosby, and Gene Autry filled our home, with songs like “Little Blue Bell,” “White Christmas,” and “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.”

Mom spent every morning vacuuming up the renegade pine needles, saying it was a small price to pay for the aroma of our tree.

...and she was right.

Mom was very frugal as money was tight, but that didn't stop her from going all out for Christmas.

Tree lights were never thrown away, and mom hit every garage sale in Spring to accumulate more.

Some ornaments were garage sale prizes, but the best ones were from mom and dad's childhood.

I especially remember a cheap plastic apple. The ornament itself was nondescript, but when you held it, you could see the teeth marks of a child.

Dad bit that ornament when he was a kid, thinking it was food, and grandma DeRozier passed it down to our family.

We were retold that story each Christmas.

All decorations and lights on our Christmas tree were perfectly symmetrical.

Mom would tell me I was the only one that could help her set up the tree, because my older brother, Dave, and younger sister, Kerin, didn't do it right.

Looking back, that's how mom got me to do a lot of things that no one else wanted to do...

...smart lady.

I'm certain my siblings messed things up on purpose so they wouldn't have to help.

Dave and I would stare in amazement at the beautiful tree, with the brilliant, symmetrical lighting that increased each year, and rag tag ornaments.

There were so many brightly wrapped gifts stuffed under the tree!

Dave and I would kneel next to the presents, careful not to touch them, as per our agreement with Mom, and figured out the division lines for each of our Christmas hauls.

Once Dad got up, he loaded up his six-point antler lighting system for his movie camera.

Once the movie camera started rolling, it was officially Christmas morning.

With squinted eyes, we displayed each of our gifts for the camera. Many presents were practical, such as socks, underwear, and clothes, but there was always one "surprise" gift.

To this day, I can name many of those "surprise gifts" that were so special, and required Dad to work overtime.

When we were done carefully opening the gifts (on which Mom was careful to use minimal tape), we folded the wrapping paper neatly, so it could be reused for the next Christmas.

We weren't allowed to play with anything until that was done.

As we placed the folded holiday paper in its place, Mom and Dad would exchange the gifts they purchased for each other.

There would never be more than one for each of them.

Dad's gift from Mom was often an Avon decanter with aftershave.

Dad loved those decanters, and I know he still owned them until his passing.

Dad's gift to Mom was usually a surprise.

I'd hear a slight squeal from mom, followed by a big hug.

...I just got teary thinking about my parents embracing like that.

That picture is still in my head, and to this day, is the visual definition of pure love.

The years seemed to fly by...

I entered the Army after high school, and I made it back for only one Christmas, since.

Life, too often, seems to get in the way of love, and family.

Over 50 years have passed since Dave and I sprinted down that checker patterned hall, wearing pajamas that we had outgrown the previous year.

...but I remember it all like it was yesterday.

When I reminisce about those Christmas mornings so long ago, the thing that I'll never, ever forget... ...the one thing I remember that epitomizes Christmas spirit and love...

...will always be that slight squeal from mom, and the way they would embrace.

Merry Christmas.

Joe

Find dusty baker Joe on Amazon or stop in and visit him on Broadway in Peru, Indiana. I guarantee you'll enjoy the visit. - Liz