by Kathy Wagenknecht
My sister Karen and I were the only grandchildren on one side of the family and the only ones for my first twelve years on the other. Yes, we were spoiled.
Christmas was the point of major spoilage. We were the stars and winners of the sweepstakes in three separate celebrations.
It began on Christmas Eve, with a trip to our Wagenknecht grandparents’ house for a ham dinner (about 2:00 in the afternoon). Dad’s parents, sister, and her husband were there, biding their time until they could start the gift avalanche for us. Yes, they and my parents gave gifts to each other, too, but Karen and I were the main attraction. I remember a large cabinet to hold Storybook Dolls built by Uncle Elmer as one big gift. My grandmother’s handmade quilts for each of us another time. Gifts made by hand.
The next party was Christmas morning, when we got to see what Santa brought. These were the cool toys: the new bikes, the stereo for our room, the play kitchen and real electric stove that baked tiny cakes from tiny, little cake mixes. After I was eight, when mother’s sister and her husband moved in with us, they participated in Christmas morning cinnamon rolls with Santa, toys, too. Double the toys! That morning celebration was discontinued after Karen owned up to no longer believing in Santa. After that, we sometimes opened packages in the morning, if their size was too unwieldy, but generally we packed everything up for the FINAL gift extravaganza.
The hour drive to Kansas City, Kansas, to Mother’s parents, was an early afternoon respite from too much good cheer. We took along a favorite item to accompany us in the car, knowing full well that we’d have more to bring home with us. Mother’s mother was a professional seamstress, so we could count on clothing, beautifully made and very fashionable from her. My childless aunt and uncle also showered us with whatever we might have mentioned that we’d like.
Opening packages was regimented. All packages were handed out, then opened one at a time, starting with either the youngest (when we were kids) or oldest (as we grew up.) One benefit of doing it that way was that you had a good bit of time to enjoy one present before you were allowed to open the next.
One year after the last of the gifts were unwrapped and everyone was sated with consumer excess, someone asked Karen if she had a good Christmas. “Yes,” she replied, “I got everything I wanted, and a whole bunch of stuff I didn’t even want.” She hadn’t meant she disliked the excess gifts, only that she hadn’t requested them, but that quote became part of the family repertoire, pulled out again at every Christmas and birthday gathering.
As I grew up, I began to realize that there was more to Christmas than presents. There were the church services, family meals, caroling, playing and singing along loudly to the Chipmunks Christmas, and going to the dime store to buy a traditional perfume set of Evening in Paris for Mother.