Chistmas 1954 | weavetheweb

Christmas - 1954

by Carol Tarlow

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It was Christmas Eve. Santa had already visited the big house in the middle of the small street. He had probably visited all the big houses on this particular small street. And now, just before dawn, it was very quiet. In the big house in the middle of the small street, a young girl sat at the top of the stairs. She was by herself with her own dreams. She knew that down the stairs and to the left, there was a room with a Christmas tree and she knew that under the tree were presents, not just one or two, but hundreds of presents, spreading out from under the tree all across the floor of the huge room.

The girl, whose name was Carol, a name she especially liked at Christmastime, focused her mind for a moment on the tree. It was huge. Her father had had to cut off the top so it would fit. And it was full of the most beautiful ornaments and decorations. That was because the girl’s mother, not seemingly a perfectionist in most things, was an absolute perfectionist when it came to the Christmas tree. Every ornament had to be on the right branch, every light had to be attached at the perfect spot, every piece of tinsel had to be placed individually so it hung like a shimmering silver icicle. Carol hated to disappoint her mother, but she had no patience with hanging individual strands of tinsel and could not help but throw huge clumps of the stuff onto the tree. And her mother could not help but take her clumps apart and hang each shred one by one by one. So it was a beautiful tree.

As she was thinking about the tree and her mother, she heard a noise down the hallway. She turned to see her sister Nancy padding toward her, eager to know if it was time to go downstairs and open presents. But it was still dark, so the two girls sat together at the top of the stairs trying very hard to contain their excitement and not wake their parents in the nearby bedroom.

“Do you think Santa’s come?” Nancy whispered. “Do you think he liked our cookies?” Nancy was ten and really didn’t believe in Santa anymore, but she refused to admit it. Carol was twelve and had known for quite awhile exactly where the presents came from, but she indulged her younger sister. “I’m sure of it,” she said. “You’ll see, there won’t be one left.”

Just then two small children appeared in the hallway, hand in hand, wide awake. “Did Santa come?” the youngest asked. His name was Larry and he was four years old.

“Let’s go downstairs,” the other said, and she hopped down the first step. This was Janet, seven years old, and always ready to go somewhere, anywhere, fast. “Not yet,” her oldest sister said, grabbing her hand and pulling her back. We have to wait until Mom and Dad wake up.”

The four children filled the top step like little elves, waiting, waiting, waiting.

Finally, as the darkness began to lighten just a little bit, they heard their parents stirring in the bedroom, and then: “Merry Christmas,” from Mom; “Merry Christmas,” from Dad, then “GO!”

Four little imps scampering as fast as they could down the stairs, soon to be lost in an avalanche of wrapping paper and ribbons, and another year of Christmas wonder. It was 1954.