Ask a child what Christmas is about and most will reply, “it’s about the presents.”
Amid all the commercialism, we forget the true reason for the season.
So how do we break this materialistic cycle? Give gifts that pull at heartstrings, rather than your bank account.
This year for Team’s Christmas contest, we wanted to focus on memorable gifts that touched the people who received them – special gifts that may have changed lives forever, some of which cost nothing at all. Here are some of the responses we received.
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It was Christmas Eve 1942 and inside our rustic dwelling a large drum heater and wood cook stove kept things cozy. A freshly cut black spruce tree stood in one corner of the room that served as a kitchen, living room and play area. Attached to a few branches of the tree were candles that were lit and a skimpy garland and a few ornaments reflected the flickering flames. No gifts were beneath the tree as St. Nicholas was to be the bearer, sometime during the night.
A coal oil lamp cast its light down on a large hand-built table that was laden with traditional Ukrainian dishes – perogies, cabbage rolls, fish, preserved wild mushrooms in a rich cream sauce and dried mushrooms in a flour gravy. Central to all this a large bowl of honeyed, poppy seeded wheat (kutya).
My sister 2 1/2 years old and myself, 4, sat and ate with relish as Mom and Dad reminisced about Christmases past and wondered about the two uncles who were away at war.
Christmas morning (pre-dawn), Dad was already up, having stoked the heater and started a fire in the cook stove. We heard Dad and could not stay in bed a moment longer, rushing out of the bedroom straight to the Christmas tree. There, beneath the tree, stood the shiniest, glossiest pair of black rubber boots in the whole world, even shinier than those that I had admired for weeks in the Eaton’s catalogue. My every hope and dream I had had been realized and for days those boots were my constant companions, even accompanying me to bed.
Nearly 65 years later the boots are the trigger that brings back a flood of happy memories of a time and place far removed and of people that are no longer.
– John Senyk, Saanichton, B.C.
Early September 2005, Mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. After leaving the doctor’s office, she asked my step-dad to take her to a jewelry store where she picked out and bought gold and silver bracelets for each of her three daughters.
Mom was hospitalized a month later and died on Dec. 8. On Christmas day our step-dad presented us with our presents.
Mom was with me in spirit that Christmas day and she’s with me every time I wear my bracelet.
– Shirley Donaldson, Lumsden, Sask.
Twenty years ago I was blessed with twin boys. Right from the beginning my mother-in-law stated that she hoped to be around when my boys graduated from high school. Two years ago she was diagnosed with cancer. She still said she would be there for the grad.
In and out of the hospital for treatments but the day of graduation she was there, her frail little body sitting in a wheelchair. She waited for this day to come for a long time. Back into the hospital after my boys’ graduation, she died one month later.
– Carol Dumalski, Goodeve, Sask.
The year my son turned 12, the prospect of adolescence caused some dread on my part. Shortly before Christmas, he had earned some spending money by doing various chores for a kindly neighbour who took a special interest in him and enjoyed his outgoing nature. One evening, I came home from shopping to discover a lively, bright yellow canary flitting about in a shiny cage on the fireplace hearth. Dumbfounded, I questioned where this bird had come from and what it was doing in our home. My son explained that he’d bought it for me “just because.” I was speechless and taken aback that he had spent every bit of the money he had just earned on a present for me.
That little bundle of fluff we named Larry the Canary soon felt right at home and filled the air with song at the least provocation – the radio playing, a water faucet running or the ringing of the telephone. When my daughter and her friend played a duet on the piano, he happily joined in and tried to outdo them with his loudest and most intricate trills. The dark days of winter were both shortened and cheered by this little songster.
– Clara Fouillard, Kamloops, B.C.
One fall day in 1936 or 1937, when I came home from school, one of my brothers was working with pieces of wood from apple boxes. I asked him what he was doing. He said he was making rabbit traps. I believed everything my brothers said because they were a few years older than me, and the incident was forgotten.
That year on Christmas morning, there were two painted doll cradles made from apple boxes, one for my sister and one for me. We were so happy.
We played with those doll cradles for a few years and then they were put aside. My mother kept mine for me and when I had my own children, my daughters all played with it.
That cradle has now been handed down to one of my granddaughters who has also grown out of playing with dolls, but still treasures it. It has been repainted and decorated recently and it still looks very nice.
These cradles were truly a labour of love by my brother – the true meaning of Christmas.
– Anna Mary Anwender, Regina.
In 1942 I was 10 years old. The Christmas concert was over, and Santa had given us our brown bag filled with hard candies, peanuts and an orange. We had sung God Save the King (I couldn’t understand why he should be saved and not the rest of us), Jesus Loves Us and Joy to the World but there didn’t seem to be much joy. The Second World War was making life very unhappy for everyone.
Dec. 25 was just another day on the calendar. Some foods were rationed although people living on the farm had almost everything they needed but sugar. Desserts were only for special occasions. I was the oldest of four girls and Mom was expecting baby No. 5. The middle of the night I was awakened from a deep sleep, “Run quickly to Carlsons and have them phone Aunt Nellie to deliver the baby.” Mom was in severe pain. I dressed and ran out the door. It was cold. The sky was loaded with millions of stars. The coyotes were howling all around me. The snow crackled as I ran. I arrived at the Carlsons’ door. I called and couldn’t wake anyone, so I walked in. Mrs. Carlson woke up, lit a coal oil lantern and phoned Aunt Nellie.
Father had hitched up the horses to the sleigh with the box and was on his way to pick up Aunt Nellie. Mrs. Carlson walked home with me. Aunt Nellie was taking care of Mom, so I went back to bed.
Next morning all was quiet. Soft snow was coming down and it felt much warmer. I went to Mom’s bedroom. She was all smiles, holding her beautiful baby boy. Aunt Nellie made Mom Norwegian fruit soup with tapioca. The rest of us had beet juice pudding with sweetener and whipped cream. She also had time during her stay as a midwife, housekeeper, nanny and cook, to make me a lovely navy blue jumper with red buttons using material from an old coat.
– Elsie Rud,
North Battleford, Sask.
Sometime in the mid-1950s I took a trip to Brandon from Wawanesa, Man., with my mom. This day we went into a children’s clothing shop on Rosser Avenue. There, high on a shelf, were six beautiful dolls in large boxes. I told my mom, right then and there, that the one with the red hair was the gift I would like for Christmas. My mom said that the doll was quite expensive and she would have to do some thinking about it and talk to my dad.
A couple of weeks later we were back in the shop and the doll was gone. I was very disappointed, but I told my mom that I would be glad of a suitcase for doll clothes, if I could not have the doll.
About that time my parents started putting me to bed in their bedroom once or twice a week. This seemed a bit odd, but Mom said she had some mending to do, and the sewing machine was in my room. I would sleepily hear our neighbour Mrs. Huxley’s voice and wonder why she was visiting so late at night.
Well, on Christmas morning I found out. When I came downstairs I was dumb-founded, as there on my grandparent’s hearth was the beautiful red haired doll. Beside her was a dear little brown cardboard suitcase. When I opened the suitcase I could not believe my eyes. It contained all manner of doll clothes stitched late at night by my mom, with the help of her friend Mrs. Huxley. They had raided their fabric stashes for dresses and a coat. I recognized my dad’s pajamas as a doll-sized pair. There was a lovely bunting bag to keep dolly warm, and a bathing suit and cover-up for trips to the lake at Ninette. I was overwhelmed with amazement. It was much more than I had ever expected. Even then I knew it was made with love. Mom revealed that she made an extra mid-week trip to Brandon to purchase the doll.
I still have several of the garments safely tucked away. The poor doll became quite waterlogged after a trip to the beach, and is nowhere to be found. Now, quite a few years later, my dad has passed away, but my mom is still with me to share my pleasure in the story of how she made such a special Christmas so many years ago.
– Marnie Sholdice, Calgary.
