The Sunday Memory Drawer - "Smile! It's Christmas"

 

Or so my Dad would say every holiday season.

It was inevitable.   At least it was for about five years.  When I was a really small type, my father was a big photography buff.  He had gotten himself an Argus Technicolor camera.  Perfect to capture for posterity all the golden moments of his young family and the holiday celebrations we all enjoyed.  The camera was always at the ready.

About ten years ago, I had my dad's Technicolor slides transferred to a DVD.  The photos are badly in need of a Turner Classic Films restoration, but that is likely too late.  There are some that have deteriorated to the point that you can't even make out facial features.

But, as I flip through them all one more time, I see Technicolor that has faded.   The memories indeed have not.  You've seen some of these photos before on previous Christmases.   But isn't that what snapshots are for?  To revisit again and again and again.

So, enjoy Christmas again as seen through my father's camera lens.   My own set of "Awkward Family Photos."

Christmas morning was always a haul for me.  Some of the big ticket items this year were a hobby horse and a piano....  

 ....which I immediately attempted to play.  There is sheet music.  For a four-year-old???  Meanwhile, you can see a special holiday appearance by Mickey Mouse.

Once I saw what Santa had brought me in our place up on the second floor, I'd scoot downstairs to see what he had left for me in Grandma and Grandpa's place.  This year, it must have been a teddy bear.  But, most of the time, St. Nick simply dumped some cash in an envelope.

We had a little village that sat under our tree.  There was a train that traveled all around.  I loved to blow the whistle.  Over and over and over.  Eventually, Mom's Christmas morning headache would kick in.  From down the hall, I would hear the cry.

"Enough already!"

Despite the haze, I can tell this is another year because I look older.  My prized possession here is a Captain Kangaroo doll.  Little did I know on this day that, when I would graduate from Fordham University, Bob "Captain Kangaroo" Keeshan would be given an honorary doctorate at the same ceremony.

Damn, I remember that Zorro play set.  That kept me occupied for years.  I'd play with it upstairs.  I'd drag it downstairs.  The little pieces would be all over the house.  My grandmother would find them when she vacuumed.  Also you can see a toy tank.  We supported the military in our house.

I'm not sure if I'm still buying into the Santa Claus myth at this point.  I was for a while until a neighborhood kid/villain called Monte blew it up for me.

"You know all your Christmas toys are being hidden in our house?"

What?

The death of Santa Claus was complete when the above Zorro play set came with a stick on the bottom.

"SHOP AT EJ KORVETTES."

We were an artificial tree kind-of-family.  And Grandma's tree was so small that she managed to fit in on an end table.  

 Obviously, I got a new robe for Christmas.

And a cowboy suit, complete with guns.

And another cowboy outfit that is better suited for the Village People.  And they wonder how neuroses get started.

Dad loved to go on location.   This is the Cross County Mall in Yonkers, New York.  Decked out for Christmas when the place was still new.  PS, Gimbels has long been out of business.   That store is now a Macy's.

Every holiday season, there would be a rotation amongst our family with regard to who was hosting which celebration.  One house would do Thanksgiving, another would do Christmas Eve, and so on.  I absolutely hate those years where we would have to go someplace on Christmas Day.  I'd get all these wonderful new toys in the morning and then get dragged to certain boredom somewhere else.  This is apparently a year where we were hosting Christmas Day.  I was already dressed up and enjoying myself.  Or was it medication?

Only in my family.  A photography of me posing next to a bottle of Scotch that my uncle got for Christmas.  But, then again, my dad would always take at least one picture at every family Christmas of the booze stacked up on the kitchen table.

The photo is blurry.  So were the folks using the stuff in the picture.

I truly hated going to somebody else's house on Christmas Day.  The big problem was that all of my cousins were older and wanted little to do with me.  I wanted nothing to do with them either, but would be forced to pose for the requisite bell ringing photo.  Of course, I was also used as a prop for their antics.  Frequently involving them dressing me up in some bizarre outfit.

I have never forgotten this pain and humiliation.  Obviously.

Sometime within the following decade, these holiday celebrations stopped.  There were no more pictures.  There were way too many skirmishes.  Relatives grew inexplicably apart.  I wish it was not so.

So I look at the snapshots again from my dad's camera.   And wonder what happened to it all.

Dinner last night:  General Tso's Chicken from Chin Chin.