Holiday dreams stopped
December is a magic month for children. It begins with carols in
the air, and each succeeding day reaffirms the knowledge that
Christmas will soon arrive
– no matter the snail’s pace of each day before it comes – with
all the dreams of Santa Claus, toys and plenty of gifts under the
Christmas tree.
Holiday dreams stopped
December is a magic month for children. It begins with carols in the air, and each succeeding day reaffirms the knowledge that Christmas will soon arrive – no matter the snail’s pace of each day before it comes – with all the dreams of Santa Claus, toys and plenty of gifts under the Christmas tree.
I remember one such day in Toledo when I was eight. My twin brothers, Ed and Fred, and I hurried home from Sunday school, already planning the snowman we would build after the first real snow fell.
We ran through our front door in a burst of youthful exuberance and our mother looked out smiling from the kitchen where she was preparing a pot of soup for our lunch. Our youngest brother, John – we still called him Butch then – had the Sunday comics spread out on the living room floor in readiness for me to read them aloud. Our sister, Anna – her nickname was Beanie – followed Mom around the kitchen.
“We’ll eat in 15 minutes,” Mom said, which allowed enough time for reading a few of the comic strips.
Beanie came in to join us and I explained the newest adventures of “Little Orphan Annie” and “Joe Palooka.” I was just winding up “Gasoline Alley” when Mom announced, “Lunch is ready.”
While we were eating, the twins told Mom of our Sunday school lesson, the Good Samaritan, although they had trouble pronouncing the word.
“I’m going to ask Santa Claus for a cowboy hat and cap gun when we go downtown,” Butch announced.
Downtown to him meant Tiedtke’s Department Store where we all had ridden on the train twice through Toyland the previous Christmas and where Santa had taken each child in a long line on his lap and asked what he wanted for Christmas.
Mom had told us that our brother, Larry, in Utah with the Civilian Conservation Corps, would take us all to Tiedtke’s soon after he returned home at mid-month.
“I get to see Daddie,” Beanie said. Our father was a merchant seaman on the Great Lakes and his ship would end its nine-month run just before Christmas. Mom nodded brightly and her eyes grew misty. “Yes, he’ll be home all winter.”
We all smiled at the thought of the reunions and lunch was full of happy talk. When we were done eating we carried our bowls and glasses into the kitchen.
Mom said, “I’ll turn on the radio so we can hear the carols.”
With the music flooding the house, I was into the latest adventures of “Blondie” when we heard a dish break on the floor. We looked up and Mom was standing in the entrance to the kitchen with her face absolutely white and the dish towel in her hand shaking. I stood up, suddenly frightened.
Mom opened her mouth several times until she could find her voice. Then she told me, “Run next door and tell Mrs. Hartnett that the Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor. We’re at war!”
