Christmas Then and Now
It had been another long night, one of a seemingly unending string of long nights that comprised December that year. I’d been pulling a train of about half-a-dozen or more 12-hour night shifts and the sleepless nights were really beginning to drag me down. The work involved wasn’t terribly hard, but I was required to be vigilant during my work hours and was also required to perform a task every hour that could not be skipped.
It was the winter of 1966, I was an Airman 2nd Class in the U. S. Air Force and I was stationed at Ft. Sill, Oklahoma. I’d been a resident there for almost six months and this particular week I was covering for another man so he could go home on leave for the holidays. I was one of the new men and therefore had last pick as to when I could take my holiday leave. I would be getting a few days off a bit later on, but would be unable to go home then for various reasons, the primary one being money. So I was doing an on-and-off shift, 8 p.m. to 8 a.m.
And this was Christmas morning.
I’d spent my last Christmas in the military also, but had only been in for a bit over a month and Christmas had come and gone in a blur – hardly noticeable. But this year? This year I could see it coming and it would be the first real one alone and far from family.
I greeted my relief that morning with a quick turnover so he was aware where our job was, went down the stairs from the 2nd floor office I worked in and got into my car. I sat there a few moments, my eyes encompassing nothing, numb to the world and trying not to be so damn depressed. I eased out onto the street and soon was back at the barracks I called home those days. I made the short walk from the parking area across the lawn and then upstairs to the second floor in the barn-like barracks to the room I shared with the man who had relieved me. It was chilly, quiet and dimly lit from the one window looking out at the silent fort under the overcast winter Oklahoma sky.
I sighed as I sat on my bunk and tried to blink the tiredness from my eyes. Maybe there was even a tear or two as I contemplated the bleakness of my lonely morning. My eyes happened to catch sight of a bottle of whiskey on my roommate’s dresser that he’d been working on that week. Probably Canadian Club or something of that ilk. He was fond of the cheaper blended stuff. I looked at the bottle and thought to myself, hell yes I deserve a drink. It’s Christmas morning and that’s just the pickup I need before hitting the rack for some desperately needed sleep.
So I walked across the room, picked up the bottle and gave it a tentative shake. Something gurgled in the bottom so I knew it wasn’t empty. Perfect, I thought. I’ll just finish it up. I unscrewed the cap, put the bottle to my lips and tipped it up.
Unbeknownst to me, my roomie had decided that the last half-inch of whiskey would make a good place to put out his last 3 or 4 cigarettes last night, so my anticipated mouthful of 80-proof Canadian whiskey came with an ugly surprise. I bent over the nearby trashcan and spit out the unholy mess of whiskey, ashes and cigarette butts. I was barely able to keep the gag reflex from adding the sour mix in my stomach to the trashcan. I quickly went to the latrine and rinsed out my mouth repeatedly to get rid of the nasty taste, then returned to my barracks room to sleep away the rest of that less-than-enjoyable Christmas.
The holiday that year was much better left forgotten.
I’m not saying that my sad little holiday 50 years ago was the worst it could have been. I’m sure many of my friends who were in combat back in those days could recount Christmases way, way worse than mine. I will not even begin to compare mine to theirs, but their memories are theirs, not mine. Let them recount theirs and do their own judging.
So today I sat here at my computer keyboard and thought about that Christmas, the one almost 50 years ago. And as the memories of that not-so-happy Christmas began to dance in my brain, I began to recall other Christmases I’d experienced over the years and tried to rate the ones that stuck out in my mind. That one back in the Air Force was, of course, pretty close to the bottom of the list. No other one was quite as bad as that one, but then again I might have blocked out some possibly worse over the years. Most of the ones floating through my memory now were pretty good. Most of the ones when I was a kid were good of course. There was always family around, mom, dad and my brothers and mom had always been a big Christmas fan – always making sure the cookies and candy were around, always making sure the food was first class and always making sure that the kids had oodles of presents. I shudder now thinking how long it took Dad to pay off the Christmas bills back in those years. We were not a well-to-do family and paying the normal bills was sometimes difficult. But as a kid all we saw were the gaily-wrapped presents and the shiny toys and games they contained.
For sure a few of the Christmases after I was married were really good ones also. My new wife and I opening our gifts on those happy mornings, watching each other’s eyes as each box was opened and oohed and aahed over. How much fun it was getting the perfect gifts for each other. How our little family was laying the groundwork traditions that would grow and bloom and carry over to this very day.
And then when our son was born there were more great Christmases. We were able to see the holiday and all its grandeur anew through his eyes, to see the decorations and the holiday lights, the fancy dinners and the toys! He really liked opening his gifts and playing with the toys. Mom and dad would join him there on the floor under the tree, playing with the toys amid the piles of wrapping paper lying all around.
And our traditions then enfolded our new family - the three of us.
There were also some not-so-good ones interspersed here and there. The one when our son was four and we had to put our dog down on Christmas Eve. That was a real toughie. The one where my wife had miscarried not long before the holiday was grim and others where loved parents, grandparents and friends had passed away were also not happy times. There was little joy to be found on those particular days.
But to be honest, when they’re all ranked, the good ones and very good ones greatly outnumber the sad ones.
And for that I am grateful.
So today might perhaps be a time for reflection, a time for all of us to sit down and remember our Christmas’s past, to mark the ones that taught us some hard life lessons and the ones that put a smile on our faces and joy in our hearts.
To be thankful for our good ones, as many or as few as they might be.
So from my little family to yours, may your hearts be full with the holiday spirit, may you belly be full from the delightful foods and may this Christmas be counted somewhere high on your top 10 list!
