Quietly listening

As much as I enjoyed the extra activity that Christmas brought to our house, my most lingering memory is of a moment when everything seemed to stop. I was about 12, and my sister and I were lying on our beds in our darkened room with the radio on listening to “A Christmas Carol.” In the living room was an aluminum tree (remember those in the ’60s?) complete with rotating color wheel, casting a glow down the hall into our room. My mother came in and sat on the bed listening with us in silence. It was a special moment, and to this day, “A Christmas Carol” remains my favorite holiday tradition.

— Peggy Southard

A fight turns productive

In the Christmas of ’73, Momma banished my sister Kim and me to the family room for fighting. We wound up at the craft table surrounded by glue bottles, scissors, scraps of felt and old clothes, sequins, crayons and clothespins (the round-top kind) peacefully making a Nativity scene I have to this day. Mary’s robe is made from Momma’s old blue polyester houndstooth Sunday pantsuit.

— Kelly Barth

Special slumber party

Our first Christmas together as a married couple proved that I selected my perfect mate. Steve knew I loved Christmas, so it was no surprise I’d already decided in May where to place the tree in our little rented cottage. I also then confessed my childhood fantasy of wanting to sleep under the Christmas tree.

Unfortunately, our first Christmas was less bright because my father had unexpectedly passed away, but Steve knew what to do. Late Christmas Eve, I exited the bathroom and discovered a bare mattress. I quickly found him and the missing bedding in the living room … under the tree.

— Vicki Julian

A healing moment

As a scared kindergartner, I returned home from surgery on Christmas week 1977 to find my greatest Christmas memory. While I was at the hospital, my older brother and sister made for me out of construction paper and old shoeboxes a tabletop village in which I could drive my toy cars and play with my dolls and Legos. It even had its own charming little Christmas tree! While playing there, I forgot about my pain and scar on my cheek from surgery. Even now, when I see that scar in the mirror, I think of that beautiful memory.

— Sarah Whitten

Our own ‘Little Drummer Boy’

Dec. 25, 1966, I brought a special gift home from the hospital: our son, Brett Fuller. He was born Dec. 21 at Lawrence Memorial. Our 3-year-old daughter, Shelly, told my nurse I was upstairs having baby Jesus.

Often during our hospital stay, the music playing in the background as they brought Brett into my room from the nursery was “The Little Drummer Boy” so it’s still special to hear that and a great reminder of my favorite Christmas.

He’s a gift that keeps on giving as he and his wife, Tobi, live in Lenexa with their three chrildren that provide us with wonderful times.

— Judy Fuller Shunk

Wartime in Hawaii

Perhaps not a “cherished” memory, but one that will “live in infamy,” occurred on Dec. 25, 1941. Dad was stationed at Camp Malakole, just west of Pearl Harbor, when the Japanese attacked on Dec. 7.

My family was confined to our home in the Manoa Valley. Windows were covered with blankets per blackout orders. Furniture was crated in preparation for evacuation. Schools were closed, so there was room to contain bodies of those who were killed in the attack. We built a bomb shelter. We carried gas masks. Determined to celebrate Christmas Day, my brothers and I cut palm fronds, placed them in a bucket and decorated them with hibiscus. Mother played carols on our piano. Dad had three hours off to have dinner with us.

Memorable? Oh, yes.

— Barbara M. Paris

Crimson tradition

More than 40 years ago, my father-in-law started Rudolph visits on Christmas Eve. He would cover a flashlight with red material and run around in his dark backyard. The kids always told Grandpa about seeing Rudolph, and one of my daughters says they wondered why Grandpa was always in the bathroom when Rudolph came to visit. When he died, I continued the annual event. One year when one of my grandsons was just learning to talk, he got so excited when he saw “Rudolph.” For several weeks after that he went around pointing at his nose and saying “red nose, red nose.” As the kids have gotten older and learned the real story of Rudolph, they have pretended to believe for the sake of those who still get excited about Rudolph’s annual visit.

— Ed Heinen

Snowy road trip

My dad loved Christmas. Some of my earliest memories are of Dad waking my sister and me up early on Christmas morning to open presents. My most memorable memory, however, was much later. The year was 1961. I was married with two small children, 1 and a half years and 3 months. My sister lived halfway across the country in Washington, D.C., with her husband and new baby. Wanting the family together for Christmas, Dad suggested we — Dad, Mother, me, my husband and two children drive to Washington for Christmas. It started snowing early the day we left and was a heavy snowfall. At that time, there was no Weather Channel,” “storm warnings” or weather updates on TV — and no interstate highway system. Dad said, “We will drive out of it.” Well, we didn’t. The highways were snowpacked and at times nearly blinding, but we made it. It is a miracle that we arrived safely, but we were able to have our family Christmas together as planned.

— Charlotte Sparkes

Just the two of us

My fondest Christmas memory involves my mother. Every year we went to midnight Mass. Upon arrival home, it was bedtime. One year, my mother asked me to stay up with her while my three brothers went to bed. We sat up together, looked at the lit-up tree in the dark room, talked and drank hot chocolate until everyone was asleep. She then got presents from their hiding place, and I got to help her put them under the tree. Sitting up talking with my mother — and talking secretively in that darkened room — evokes such a special time for me.

— Kathleen Firns-Hubert

Mom’s special touch

As a single woman raising three kids on her own, my mom always thought of her kids instead of herself, especially at Christmas. She made sure that each of us had the same number of presents. As an adult, I can remember arriving at her house on Christmas morning, to the aroma of coffee cake, monkey bread and hot coffee.

There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about that amazing lady. I hope that some of her wonderful qualities have rubbed off on me. We miss you, Mom!

— Debi Moore

An illuminating Santa

The real Christmas tree at our house at 1709 Indiana St. didn’t come inside the house until seven days before Christmas. My dad bought the tree at Edmonds Christmas tree lot at 19th and Massachusetts. The tree had to stand in a bucket of water before it was mounted on two cross boards to hold it upright.

My mom would bring the boxes of Christmas decorations from the basement, and then the excitement began. We watched as she checked each string of Christmas lights to be sure all the bulbs were all right. She put the lights on the tree with great care with colored reflectors to make the lights shine brighter. Then came the big event: Santa Claus.

Our Santa was a very old light bulb. Mom said he had been at the top of her family Christmas tree all the time she was growing up. Would he still light up? Yes, he did. He stood proudly shining at the top of our Christmas tree all through my childhood. Here he is! A painted white milk glass Christmas bulb of yesteryear.

— Charlyne McCluggage Michnick

Soldiers’ homecoming

My most cherished Christmas memory was Christmas 1945. Three Stebbins brothers had been in combat in Italy, Germany and the Philippines. When Christmas 1945 arrived, I was dating Merrill (Bood). He and his older brother had been discharged from service; his younger brother was home on leave. Words cannot describe the love, joys and blessings this family had, having the boys home and safe for Christmas 1945.

— Georgie Stebbins

Fateful dance

December 1956. I walked with girlfriends from my dorm at Iowa State to the Wesley Fellowship at Collegiate Methodist Church. A student said, “We’re doing folk dances. You need partners.” Some boys appeared and she paired us up. My partner was Paul, but not for long. Folk dances change partners frequently. When he called later, it took a moment to recall who he was. He asked me to the Christmas ball, and I loved to dance. We walked, me wearing my high school prom dress with crinolines, and danced to a live band.We’ve been together ever since.

— Jewell Willhite