CHRISTMASES IN GRAYSON COUNTY, TEXAS

     As we celebrated Christmas throughout my childhood, I spent a lot of time with kinsmen who grew up poor during the depression.  They “tsk- tsked” the relative orgy of gifts we received, while feeling compelled to tell us how rough they had it growing up.  It became a competition to detail how poor they were and how we should pity their plight when they were my age.

    Stories abounded about their meager gifts and how glad they were to receive them.  We were told we should be ashamed of ourselves for asking for specific gifts and we should be grateful for what we received.  “Why, when I was your age, all I received for Christmas was a piece of hard candy and new shoelaces.”  

     OK, that’s pretty rough…but when it did not receive the proper response after the 20th telling, it changed to, “Why, when I was your age, all I received was a strand of barbed wire to use as shoelaces in my work boots.”  

     Not to be out done, another aunt or uncle would say, “Well, all we received was one tamale for Christmas dinner…for all of us.”

     

     “Yeah, well I looked forward to Christmas because it was the only day all year, I got a drink of water.”

     “Oh yeah?  Well, we were so poor, we cooked dirt and made it into a stew to feed our family of 13.”     This sort of thing abounded and I feel was designed to make us feel guilty for our relatively abundant life.

     Now, all my life my grandma Kenner, my mother’s mother, made and canned corncob jelly.  She boiled the corncobs down to a residue and added a lot of sugar.  This made a  tart and tasty jelly, but it was its unique origin that made it so special and a topic of conversation.  With this basis, it did not take a lot for my “one-ups-man-ship” elders to take their own “hardship” stories up a notch. 

     “Bucky, I know you like corncob jelly…but as kids, all we received at Christmas was Chicken-poop candy.”       

      “WHAT?”    

     “Yes, if done right it is very tasty!”     

     “Please tell me you are lying.”     

     “Oh no, you wash the chicken poop throughly, add a lot of sugar and peanuts, coat it in chocolate and you could never tell the difference.”  They would then say they would bring some by and a few days later produce some candy from the five and dime…it would be some chocolate, peanut mix,  but there was no way I was touching it.  I BELIEVED IT WAS CANDY MADE FROM CHICKEN POOP!  How big a leap of faith is corn cob jelly to chicken poop candy?

     My mother was our cub scout den leader and she would take us out to the Woodman Circle Home, just west of Sherman, to sing carols for the elderly residents at Christmas.  I loved going out there because the residents were starved for visits and would shove money into our pockets as if we were strippers at some naked lady bar.  The key was to be discreet and transfer most of our plunder to our socks or cuffs of our jeans.  This is because mom would tell us not accept it or give it back, because the only thanks we needed was “the joy on their elderly faces.”  This was a lie…we wanted the cash.   We had to be clever hiding it, palming it, stuffing it in our cub scout caps or shoes and out of mother’s site.  Once out of view, we could often count on upwards of 5 dollars per man, per visit.  Not chump change for a few hymns!  With that kind of money, one could really put feeling into, “O’ Holy Night!”

     A Christmas highlight from my childhood was participating in the “live nativity” at the front of Key Memorial Methodist Church.  On the surface this sounds extremely boring, however when you are all dressed up with your friends, as shepherds, wise men or other characters, it is actually fun and a time for reflection.  You have to stand very still amid farm animals (baby goats would chew through their ropes and wander off) and stare adoringly on the life size doll of “baby Jesus.”  Cars drove by, took our picture and commented on how wonderful we looked.  We utilized the same “baby Jesus” year after year and kept sprucing him up.  This doll was about the same size as a 10 pound baby, had a lot of makeup and red lips from years of annually applied red paint.   One year, someone added a large blonde wig and purple, regal looking swaddling clothes.  

     When our shift was up, we left and put our bath robes, crowns and other nativity clothes on the new crew.  As they made their way to the manger scene, we discovered to our horror, someone had swiped baby Jesus.  What kind of rotten scoundrel would steal the Christ child from a children’s nativity?  We must have dolled baby Jesus up too much and it was simply impossible to resist.  I hope He found a good home with some grateful little girl on Christmas morning…I also hope she never learned that he was stolen from a bunch of Methodist kids who were cursing the

culprits on Christmas Eve and forced us to wrap up one our little brothers (still in a red "Santa" cap) as Jesus… forcing him down into the manger.  As I recall, he protested so much about being drummed into service, we had to give him a peppermint stick, which the Christ child licked and crunched on the most holy of nights, as the shepherds smiled adoringly.

     This time between Christmas and New Years 2017, marks the 50th anniversary of my little brother Bob’s death.  He was struck by a car, just outside the same Woodman’s Circle Home and died instantly.  He is now in heaven with my parents, friends and loved ones.  You hear it all the time, but look at your loved ones and thank God for them.    They can be gone in an instant.  Give them a hug, tell them you love them and thank them for being in your life.  I love YOU and am grateful YOU are in my life.  

     Happy New Year.