Christmas' past: Harry Hanukkah, big BAM!

Christmastime brings back memories of days gone by, like the time I got knocked down after sticking some decorative tinsel in an electrical outlet.

Christmas morning 1963 I was itty-bitty and I wore my tiny firetruck print white robe.

We had the typical Christmas tree with typical decorations including tinsel all over the thing.

“Plug the lights in,” commanded my dad.

I grabbed the plug and rammed it into the outlet with all the enthusiasm of a kid, not caring about the hunk of tinsel draped across the plug prongs.

BAM!

The noise came with a bright flash.

Next thing I knew the family was standing over me.

I was on my back on the living room floor.

“Are you all right?” my father said.

I put on a big grin and said, “Let’s open presents.”

There were Christmases that involved trips to my grandparents’ house in Virginia.

Family was there and we all feasted around a huge table.

At least it seemed like a huge table.

Years later, I asked my grandma whatever happened to that huge dining room table where we had those big Christmas dinners.

“You’re sittin’ at it, boy,” she said pointing to her dining room table, one where I could stretch my arms and touch each end.

“It’s so tiny,” I said.

“You were tiny, boy. This table’s always been this size,” she said.

I was home for Christmas my first year in college.

I woke up that morning and it was all quiet. No Christmas music, nobody talking, no cooking aromas.

Downstairs I found my mom and dad talking and perusing the morning paper..

“Where’s Christmas?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” Mom said.

“There’s no music, no smell of coffee or bacon,” I said.

“Well why don’t you make a pot of coffee and take it in to your grandmother to wake her up,” Dad said.

So I made a pot of coffee, unplugged the percolator and walked into her room where she was sound asleep.

I waved the spout underneath her nose thinking that would wake her up but I unintentionally waved the pot a bit too much and hot coffee splashed in her ear.

Grandma sat bolt upright in bed yelling and holding her ear.

Just like that, Christmas morning was underway.

Folks celebrate a number of things around this time of year: Winter Solstice, Yule, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah and Festivus.

Through the years I had heard of Hanukkah, but I really didn’t know anyone who got into the celebration, until the 1980s.

And in a different way than I had heard of.

I made the acquaintance of a Jewish fellow and his family back east.

I dropped in on them one December day and found his home festooned with many typical Christmasy decorations, including a tree.

“What do you think of our Hanukkah bush?” he said pointing to the tree.

“Hanukkah bush, cool,” I said.

“You guys have your Christmas tree, we have our Hanukkah bush,” he said.

He pointed to stockings hanging on the fireplace hearth.

“And stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that Harry Hanukkah soon would be there,” he recited.

We laughed together.

“Harry Hanukkah, that’s new to me,” I said.

“Merry Christmas, my friend,” he said.

“Happy Hanukkah to you, bud,” I said.

And happy holidays to us all.

Grant McGee writes for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact him:

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