MUM. THANK YOU FOR THE MEMORIES
I’ll be the first to admit that my siblings and I were spoilt as children, and nowhere was that more obvious than in the lucrative haul of material goods we came to refer to as ‘Christmas’.
Perhaps it was to compensate for my parents’ own threadbare childhoods, or pity for the fact that none of their children seemed to have any friends. Regardless, every year the living room seceded more ground to the tidal wave of presents spilling out from beneath the tree.
Christmas was somewhat of a celebration in our house.
We followed roughly the same format each year. Charlotte, Toby and I would sort of roll from our beds at the crack of 11am (being neither lithe enough to properly trampoline forth like most children, nor what you’d really call a ‘morning’ family) and inspect the stockings that Santa had filled in the night.
Joke books, puzzles and plastic hippos full of chocolate eggs (we didn’t like to discriminate between the religious holidays) would fling across our beds. It goes without saying that the chocolates were half gobbled by the time we’d pulled on our generously elasticated underpants.
Together, we’d sort of hobble-race downstairs to glance at the ocean of reindeer coated boxes that would invariably be awaiting us, our mouths forming a gobsmacked ‘o’ at the sight of all that bounty. All those My Little Ponies, I’d whisper to myself, just waiting to be unveiled.
While my mother bustled about upstairs with her lipstick and other fancy lady affairs, my father would be putting the finishing touches to the homemade sausage rolls while we tried to convince him to let us open something. Just one present! we would beg. Please! We can’t stand it ANY LONGER! Our hearts would race, palms sweating. We were three anxious children being driven mad, the haunting sirens’ song of the concealed treasure taunting us in our frilly dresses and little bow ties.
Our father would acquiesce, and we’d thunder off to choose something small to tide us over. Pretty presents, we’d whisper. We love you.
Eventually, my mother would join us and we’d gather round the tree as my father played Santa. Crawling beneath its drooping branches, he’d allocate gifts to each of us and we’d ferociously rip into them like hungry pigs at a trough feed. Later, we’d channel those same pigs around the dining table as we tore into the turkey, popped crackers with one another and mainlined soft drink by the gallon.
The sugar gave us the energy to participate in the family parlour games that always followed lunch: charades, cards and dysfunctional shouting matches.
The magic of Christmas was strong with us.
As we grew into adulthood, the presents retreated into the past. We had no need for sacks of treasure; at the end of the day, it’s all plastic crap that gets discarded within a few weeks and is left to gather dust. But we grew into ourselves. The soft drink gave way to wine, the lunches to dignified affairs punctuated by laughter, poetry and story telling. The parlour games remained, with the occasional shouting match thrown in. We’re a family, after all.
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8 Responses to this article
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Valerie Parv December 22, 2011
Bless you Clementine for putting into words what it’s like to spend Christmas without that special someone who gave the holiday meaning. As you say, the glass of memory blurs with time,and we realise that celebrating is the way they’d like us to honour them. Raising a glass to you and all of us in the same position. Cheers.
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Belle Todrani December 22, 2011
Thank you for sharing, Clementine. I, too, lost my mother to cancer. I was sixteen and she actually passed on Christmas Eve so I can completely relate to the Christmastime melancholy and loss of joy for the day. For me, Christmas is a painful reminder not only of the anniversary of her death, but also of the fact that we are not a complete family any longer. Your article has actually given me a small amount of comfort during this time of year that I dread so much – thanks again.
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Sarah Boggs December 22, 2011
Thank you Clementine,your story brought back memories of my own childhood and the growing up process and how even I wish we could go back to those glorious times when we didn’t have a lot of money (AND WE STILL DON’T) BUT THERE WAS SO MUCH LOVE TO SHARE .I remember thinking one of my brothers must have been rich because they had soft drink and not cordial.He laughed about it in later years when I told him. now my mother and nine of my siblings have gone , there is just a brother and my self left ,so we still share the love and laughter of Christmas. MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU ALL.
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Celia December 22, 2011
Clementine, this is the second piece of your writing that I’ve read this week, and both have left me gobsmacked at your extraordinary gift of honesty and wit with words. Your childhood Christmases sound so idyllic, you are lucky to have such gorgeous memories.
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Cate December 23, 2011
Beautifully encapsulated, as usual. You took me from laughter to tears in the blink of a damp eyelash.
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Dramaqueen75 December 23, 2011
Thank you Clemantine. I am sitting in my parents lounge room with my grandmother, father, sister and brother. We are quietly reading the papers and relaxing after a few to many wines last night.
My mum died on the 5th of November and it is all still very raw for us. We will all be together with our partners, our kids and dogs for the next week. I haven’t felt Christmassy yet but we are going to give it a red hot go!
My mum WAS the Christmas Fairy and we are doing the best we can to eat, drink, wrap presents and tell stories just as she would have it. It’s hard- her spirit is all around us though, I am sure of it.
The last few weeks have been awful. Trying to finish up the year and organize gifts, wandering through shops in a fog while being taunted by Christmas carols.
Finally though I am here, with my family. There will be pudding making and gin and tonics in the afternoon- we will get though.
We all will – eventually. Time marches on, doesn’t it?
