This season brings many remembrances of family gatherings, laughter and wrappings. Everyone seems to have their own hoarded collection of stories. As kids we received a few gifts each and a homemade stocking. Each tale I've heard seems to be the same: the orange in the toe of the stocking, a handful of mixed nuts, still in their thick, stubborn shells, a collection of peppermint-flavored, pretty hard candies that were almost inedible. Some of us delighted to find a paperback by a favorite author. I'm sure Carol and I found our games of “jacks” in our stockings and the boys a bag of cat's eye marbles. One year we were each the recipient of a small car and spent several hours amusing ourselves.
Did our stockings belong to Dad, the long, wool sock with red stripes? Were they the heavy brown stockings that clad our spindly legs in those years? We likely used whatever came to hand.
My mother-in-law, however, had a great variety of flashy stockings. Most were sewn from red or green felt, with sequins, lace and buckles. I recall one that was shaped as a lady's old-fashioned boot, high topped and high heeled. Some had glitter; some were snow men or reindeer. The kids found them delightful.
We used to wrap all the gifts with Christmas themed paper. We quickly learned to purchase better quality even though it would soon be torn to shreds. The lightweight, cheaper kind often had tears by the time the final piece of scotch tape was applied. One of my friends saved all the shiny colored flyers and made economical wrappings for her gifts.
My family was always cautious while opening gifts. The tape had to be gently lifted, flaps spread open, then refolded for re-use next year. The Hoey family apparently had never heard of recycling. They tore into their gifts with gusto, destroying the elegant display and flinging scrunched paper wads carelessly over their shoulders. Mom loved the task of gift wrapping and spent a lot of time on her projects. Each one had ribbons and tassels and gift tags. It bothered me to see her efforts tossed aside but she was unconcerned.
The advent of gift bags has changed things. Bags now come in all sizes and interesting patterns. One at my house this year was a grand rendering of a “Charlie Brown Christmas.” The recipient of course loves all things to do with Snoopy. His gift had been deposited in the bottom, tissue paper stuffed on top and voila.
I seem to recall other gifts artfully arranged in creative packaging. How about a large fluffy towel or bathrobe carefully folded to conceal a spa experience: bubble bath, lotions, scented candles. The whole bundle can be secured with pretty ribbon. I've encountered similar gifts at wedding and baby showers: gifts within gifts. Cake pans holding spices, mixing spoons, etc, wrapped with tin foil. Laundry hampers over-flowing with disposable diapers, powder and tiny sleepers.
What are the wrappings that hold our lives together? My family was secured by a long line of loving relatives, lessons taught by gentle, wrinkled hands, tales told over Sunday dinners. Common facial features, temperament, and stubborn streaks; work ethic and tenacity. “Stick-to-it-iveness” was a word we heard a lot at our house.
Mom and Dad's generation clothed themselves with faith, religious traditions, and resolve. They passed on to us all that they had, all that they were. We received the cloak and wrapped it securely around us, fastened with love.
