It’s Christmas Day in 1976 at 161 Dartmouth Ave! I would have been 8 years old. 

Like every family, there was a ‘schedule of events’ every Christmas morning, year after year. I always woke up early to my miniature blow-mold snowman with the candy cane over his shoulder, still plugged in on my nightstand from Christmas Eve. I’m sure I would have been wearing those flannel 1-piece PJs with the feet in them. 

Everyone gathered in the family room, except for my brother, our oldest sibling, who would have been 18 years old in 1976. He was at that age where he would rather sleep than open presents. It was so annoying because we couldn’t dig in until he came downstairs. I remember my Mom and Dad calling him numerous times, the final time with an edge to their voices. When he finally stumbled down with his long hair in his eyes, and all 7 of us were present, Christmas could finally begin!

We always started the opening of our gifts with our stockings. If you read my blog post last week, you know the small presents inside them were the best! Santa always left a pile of unwrapped gifts that couldn’t fit inside, below each of our stockings on the big hearth of our fireplace.  All of my siblings would agree that the tchotchkes were the most exciting! Probably because they were fun surprises that we never asked for, but Santa knew we would like.

Then came all the gifts we had worked so hard to earn because being good for a whole year was sometimes hard! There are five of us, so most of the rust-colored carpet in the family room was covered with wrapped presents. Santa was ridiculously generous, and each of us had a hefty pile. We didn’t take turns, but got down to work. There were squeals of joy and plenty of, “Mom, look at this!” 

The anticipation and adrenaline were apparent because I always felt exhausted as we helped Dad gather the crushed wrapping paper and salvage any bows that weren’t smashed. The rest of the day was just as much fun as the morning, but I’ll save those memories for another time.

When I think about all those Christmas mornings on Dartmouth Drive, my heart is full. We were so very lucky. And not because there was a pile of presents with our names on them. It was the 7 of us making memories that never seemed important at the time, but when I think about it now, I realize that’s all that mattered. And always will. I miss you both terribly, Mom and Dad, and thank you for making every Christmas magical for us. Merry Christmas…