I finally got to meet my new granddaughters yesterday, and I'm already crazy about them. They call me "grandma", and I love hearing it. It's amazing how good those two little girls are, and how fast they warmed up to us.
On the way to the zoo yesterday, we had lunch at McDonald's. The youngest wanted to "sit by grandpa". My husband admitted that he nearly "lost it" when she handed her chocolate milk to him and asked, "Grandpa, can you help me open this?". Later at the zoo, "Grandpa" was about 20 feet ahead of us when she took off running and yelling for grandpa. He's so unused to hearing that name that he just kept on walking. So I yelled for "Grandpa". He stopped and turned around just in time to see her reach out her hand for him to hold.
When we'd first arrived at my daughter's, the oldest girl must've been inspecting her new grandma. She was kneeling on the couch beside me checking out my hair. Then she said it. "Grandma, your hair's so blonde that it's white"! Now that's pretty durned funny considering I'm (used to be) a natural brunette and I don't dye or bleach my hair!
I can't wait to see what's in store for us as "Grandma" and "Grandpa"!
The Riley kids had a wonderful Christmas every year.On Christmas morning, our tree would overflow with baby dolls, toy guns, and sparkley paint sets.We’d rip those packages open like little madmen.Santa somehow always managed to make it to the poorer side of town to bring us those toys.We have nothing but great memories of those Christmases.
Recently an email from my nephew Pat sparked a long-forgotten memory when he told me he appreciated the money we gave him for installing a couple of ceiling fans for us.He said it would help them make a nice Christmas for his three girls.I thought about how that was just like Pat…to do some odd jobs to make extra money for Christmas presents.As I read Pat’s email, the memory hit me out of nowhere.
We were in the car with Mom traveling somewhere through the middle of Indianapolis, probably in the late 1950s.It was dark and it was cold.We passed by some dimly-lit building. Mom told us that place was the post office and our dad was there working.By day, Dad was a mechanic at the downtown Sears location.But during Christmas season, he would take a second job at night working at the post office lugging mail and packages.I don’t know how many years he did that, but I know there was at least one.
Being just a little kid that believed in Santa, I didn’t realize that Dad worked that second job to make money to give his kids a good Christmas.In 1931, Dad was a Christmas Day addition to an already-large family.With over a dozen kids, money was tight.Dad once told us every year he would open up his Christmas present, which was always a pair of pants.Then he was told that the pants were also his birthday present.I think it broke his heart every year.My grandparents did the best they could, but just one present for each kid was a burden—even if the present was something practical like a pair of pants.
Somewhere along the way, Dad and Mom decided their kids would have much better Christmases than they had.I’m sure Dad was dead-tired after being on his feet all day long, but then he would go to his temporary Christmas job at the post office.It had to be exhausting, but I bet he thought it was worth it on Christmas morning.
That sudden memory was followed by tears.I’ll never stop missing my dad.But mostly the tears were for a little boy that never received a toy, but always got a pair of pants as a combined Christmas/birthday present.And they were tears of sadness.I wish this memory had come along when Dad was alive.I would’ve thanked him for his efforts to make sure our Christmas trees were never bare.I know Mom did the scrimping, saving, and shopping, and we owe her our thanks for everything she did as well.(Thanks, Mom!)
The Christmas I was a sophomore in high school, it finally hit me how much Mom and Dad did for us every Christmas.I had just opened my three presents…a set of hot curlers, a makeup mirror, and I can’t even remember the third gift, but I know it was something “girlie”.Like every 15-year-old girl, I had wanted those three things so badly, but how did they know?And how did they afford all those gifts for me and my brothers and sister?I broke into tears right about the time Mom snapped a photo of me.I finally realized how much our parents sacrificed for us.
The “memory” above shows my dad playing with a race set.I assume “Grandma and Grandpa Riley” had bought it for my son Brian since he was the only grandson at that time.Every Christmas Dad would eventually make his way over to the race set, or the electric train—whatever my brothers got that year.He’d sit and play for a long time.There was still a little boy inside that grandpa, and at Christmas, he would change into that little boy long enough to play with toys.
I thought it was important to share this memory with you.More than likely, Mike and Mark were too young to remember, and Rita was just a twinkle in my father’s eye.But I can play that post office memory in my head like it was yesterday.It’s been hidden for many years, but I doubt I’ll ever tuck it away in the cobwebs of my mind again.Thank you, Pat, for that one little statement that woke up this memory.
I know Dad is always with us in spirit during Christmas to celebrate the birth of Jesus and the birth of a baby boy in Newton Stewart.Bless all of you, and I hope this message causes you to think back to a special Christmas when you were just a kid.
