GHOSTS OF CHRISTMAS PAST

 I remember growing up in an ideal neighborhood in Detroit in the 1960s. It was a quiet place with people from all walks of life and many different religious beliefs. When my father purchased the little green and white house in 1954, it had just been built. There were 6 similar homes built in the small subdivision. It would be considered tiny by today’s standards with 2 bedrooms and 1 bath, although it had a full basement and the largest lot of all the homes due to our corner location.

It was a time when everyone knew their neighbors. Most of the nearby homes would be decked out and lit up for Christmas. My mother was obsessed with decorating every single corner of our modest house. She would start planning and baking at least a month before. She would make rum balls, Swedish gems and of course, her famous fruit cake. I know what you think, but hers was awesome! It would be wrapped in cheese cloth and soaked in bourbon for several weeks.

Christmas eve was the night of all the excitement and festivities. Mother and I would dress in our nicest holiday outfit. Daddy would dress up, (which he did not usually do) in a clean pair of trousers and a ban-lon shirt.  The fun would start around 4 o’clock when we would (on most of the early years) likely eat at the local dinner across from the bar where my father worked part time to help pay for my catholic school education. After we ate (and it should be said that many in the neighborhood would gather there) we would go over to John’s bar, The Old Mill Gardens and meet with numerous friends and relations who would buy each other drinks and dance. Although, it should be stated that there was a large sign on the wall that clearly stated, “POSITIVELY NO DANCING.”

John’s wife Stella was jovial and friendly. She was a wonderful cook who always had a “spread” set up for all to enjoy. There would be ham and turkey with all the fixins. Freshly baked pies and cakes and even homemade bread!

All the ladies would be dressed up in bright red and green outfits and the bar would be aglow with lights and a beautiful Christmas tree. John and Stella would always have a gift for me. Usually a bath set—for girls—made up of bubble bath and perfume and pretty hair clips! I would always play all the holiday songs on the juke box and danced in spite of the sign. Many who knew my parents would buy me cokes and Shirley Temples and give me money for the juke box.

We would say our goodbyes about 6:00 pm and return home to get dips and cookies ready for the neighbors. They would arrive and drink and smoke and laugh and listen to Christmas songs by Dean Martin, Bing Crosby and Arthur Godfrey. Of course, they would be played on my mother’s treasured RCA radio/tv/record player combo.

Relatives were invited, but seldom came. I was allowed to invite 1 friend. Usually it was my friend across the alley, Robin. We would exchange our gifts to one another. In the early years, this always meant Tammy clothes. Her granny loved to crochet and knit and would make both of us a wardrobe of sweater, dresses and hats for our Tammy dolls.

One of the special guests was Ella Jean. She was my mom’s best friend from her working days. She was a zaftig woman, who usually wore a very tight red dress with a huge corsage and lots of perfume with bright red lipstick. She had a rather brassy voice that carried. She would make certain she kissed every man. My uncle Bill, if he were present, would hide in the bathroom. She made it a point to kiss my daddy on the cheek, which left a large red lip print. I loved her “larger than life” attitude!

As the evening wore down and everyone said their farewells. My friend and I would be exhausted from all the food and amusement would be found sound asleep on my bedroom floor. Pierre, our poodle would be snuggled next to me. My mother would make her way to bed (this one time without clearing up) she would cover us with a blanket.

I cannot remember every detail from those days, but I do remember that those days were filled with love and laughter.

Merry Christmas to all of you and yours.