What's Your Most Meaningful Christmas Memory?

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I have two.
When I was little, I came out of mid-night mass and the sky was lit up by a full moon. The sky was a deep velvety blue. The air seemed to have a silvery cast to it. As we drove down our rocky driveway, I saw our donkey, goats, calf and pigs all laying down facing an old rock root cellar with a door on it. It could have been a perfect live nativity scene except Mary, Joseph and Jesus were missing.

The other one was when I was about 11 years old. We hadn’t had much to eat for months. We scoured dumpsters for dented, labeless cans of vegetables, which was what kept us alive.
Someone donated a box of food to the parish and the priest gave it to my father. I have never had a meal like the one I had that Christmas. The box included a large smoked turkey and all the fixings, including the makings for a pie. I swear that nothing I have ever put in my mouth tasted as good as that turkey. The box was our only Christmas gift that year and the best one I ever had.🙂
 
December 24, 2001. The day our second daughter was born! What a gift she has been!

December 1985. My grandfather was living with us as he battled cancer. He had told my mother what he wanted to get all of us for Christmas and so she went and bought everything that he asked for and wrapped it. He passed away two weeks before Christmas. But his gifts to us were under the tree Christmas morning and in between tears of grief and happiness, he was still with us. I was ten. I still have the doll he gave me.
 
I have all kinds of them but the best ones were in my childhood when Santa would deliver our gifts, it was a surprise and a blessing, especially when our parents would tell us Santa wasn’t coming because I was a bad kid…
Another one of the best memories, are when we get my children involved in picking gifts for the needy children, they love doing that!! 😃
 
I was raised on a farm and attended a Methodist Church in my teen years… We would always attend the Christmas Eve candle light service and return back to the farm around 11pm. >> My mother would always say, lets go down to the barn and see the animals. >> Every night, except Christmas Eve, the animals would make noise when someone would enter the barn >> The cows would moo, the chickens cluck, and sometimes the dog would bark >> Not on Christmas Eve… The barn was silent… Mom would say in a low voice, the animals know it’s Christmas… Then we would walk back to our house and get ready for bed… Talk about a Silent Night…
 
I was seven or eight. I had been very sick for several days. My mom woke up the morning of Christmas Eve and checked on me. I was unconscious in my bed with a temperature of 104.5. She rushed me to the hospital. We found out that I had pneumonia. Once I was awake, I didn’t feel all that bad. The doctors made me stay in the hospital though.

My extended family always got together on Christmas Eve. Mom called dad to have him cancel it that year because it was at our house. They were going to have to stay with me in the hospital. Randy (my brother) was going to stay with my aunt, uncle and cousins.

I felt horrible because “Christmas was cancelled” because of me. Well, dad called everyone and no one wanted to cancel. They all came to the hospital with presents and a little tree for my room. They all had to dress with face masks, gowns and gloves.

I’ll never forget lying in that bed crying and talking to my mom. I was a very sick girl, but wanted everyone to be together for Christmas. Mom didn’t know anything at that point either. Dad called to tell her everyone knew and we would get together the next weekend. He was going to wait until bed time to come up so he could stay with Randy. When everyone came walking in that room, it was an amazing feeling. It was the first time I realized that Christmas could never be cancelled.
 
happymommy

I have a redhaired niece who was born on Christmas. Her name is Kristen.
Your Grandfather must have had an incredible love for you and your siblings. Part of his last days were spent thinking about you.🙂

iluvmybabies Having your children pick out gifts for needy children, is a wonderful way to teach them about the true meaning of Christmas.

Will B. Your story gave me goosebumps. I know just what your mother meant when she said the animals know its Christmas.
It was an incredible experience to see those animals all grouped together like that. “Talk about a Silent Night” really says it all.

nicolep. Wow! What an incredible story and what a wonderful family you were blessed with. It’s another great example of the true meaning of Christmas. Have you ever thought about writing that a little longer and selling it to Reader’s Digest?
 
When I was in my teens, my father started a new business. We struggled with money for years. One Christmas, none of us had any money for giving gifts. We gave each other simple things we had made, and my parents gave each of us kids a simple, heartfelt letter about how much they loved us. I carried mine in my wallet for years until it fell to pieces.
 
The voice of my Grandfather as he read the Nativity account from Luke. That is my only memory of his voice, he died when I was 5. We have it on silent home movies - and I can hear it clear as a bell when I watch it.

Now, my dad is the grandfather, still reading that same passage.
 
1.) My mother took me to Mass on Christmas morning when I was 3. It was EARLY, in the City, and we walked back and forth.

I think I drove her nuts with questions, and of course, this was the old days when Mass was always in Latin. I had to keep my hat on, and even though it was angora, it itched!

When we came out, the sidewalk was dusted with snow, and it sparkled. I told her the sidewalk looked like diamonds. We walked home, and I felt very peaceful.

2.) Even though it is not a virtuous moment in family history, I think the one on a scale with the first would be what is known as THE YEAR OUR FAMILY SCARED SANTA.

I was in high school in the 1970s and had a brand new pair of “baggie bells”. We had a family party on Christmas Eve at my mother’s brother’s place, again in the City- so there’s plenty of sidewalk, plenty of street lights. EVERYBODY on my mother’s side that was local HAD to attend.

We had buffet. We had party games, such as Find The Dollar and Baby Bottle Races. And when the adults had baby bottle races, their bottles were filled with mixed drinks. They were already drinking mixed drinks, and wine, and beer.

My aunt’s husband, a dear man, was not feeling so well. He was singing the Ray Coniff version of “Let It Be” which consisted of humming and the words “Let it be.” He made himself feel better in the bathroom by dousing his head in cold water then toweling, and then it was the highlight of the evening, caroling.

With my father bringing his guitar, we strolled the nice, northside Chicago neighborhood where my aunt and uncle lived. Some of us were out of tune. One of us were still singing “Let It Be.” And some of us were little kids trying to play with snow and carol at the same time. And my father was trying to walk and play guitar at the same time.

People were looking at us as if we were a tad weird. A couple people got it.

Then we noticed a guy getting into his Datsun, wearing a bright red suit trimmed in fur. “OK, kids, let’s go carol for Santa!” my father bellowed as we all turned out attention to the man with a laundry bag in his hand and beard on his face.

I think he thought we were going to mug him. Before we could get out the first line of “Here Comes Santa Claus” Santa fumbled for his keys, started his engine, and was gunning down Claremont with the door still opened on the driver’s side.

To most people, this would not be a meaningful memory. But of those men, one is dead, one can honestly be considered an old man, and one is moving into his senior years. Their children are grown, have children of their own, and in some cases, grandchildren of their own.
 
my father-in-law was disabled by stroke 5 yrs before he died, and actually died of a heart attack right after thanksgiving dinner, so we were anticipating a rather gloomy holiday, since Christmas Eve had always been “His Thing”, buffet dinner, carols, choreographed opening of presents then Midnight Mass. He must have had a premonition because during the summer he chose from among all the collectibles and souvenirs from around the world travel before his illness, gifts for everyone in the family, wrapped and tagged them, so everyone got a meaningful gift from dad/grandpa. Still have mine, a Japanese tea set

forgot to say he had also signed sealed and stamped the Christmas cards ready for mailing, and they went out the day after his funeral.
 
OutinChgoburbs said:
1.) My mother took me to Mass on Christmas morning when I was 3. It was EARLY, in the City, and we walked back and forth.

I think I drove her nuts with questions, and of course, this was the old days when Mass was always in Latin. I had to keep my hat on, and even though it was angora, it itched!

When we came out, the sidewalk was dusted with snow, and it sparkled. I told her the sidewalk looked like diamonds. We walked home, and I felt very peaceful.

2.) Even though it is not a virtuous moment in family history, I think the one on a scale with the first would be what is known as THE YEAR OUR FAMILY SCARED SANTA.

I was in high school in the 1970s and had a brand new pair of “baggie bells”. We had a family party on Christmas Eve at my mother’s brother’s place, again in the City- so there’s plenty of sidewalk, plenty of street lights. EVERYBODY on my mother’s side that was local HAD to attend. …

To most people, this would not be a meaningful memory. But of those men, one is dead, one can honestly be considered an old man, and one is moving into his senior years. Their children are grown, have children of their own, and in some cases, grandchildren of their own.
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What wonderful memories. IMO any time a family is together celebrating the joy and spirit of Christmas it creates meaningful memories. The best gift a family can give to themselves is getting together and celebrating Christmas in a loving, joy filled way.🙂
 
First year university. It had been a (rather unwitting for my mom!) tradition that our first Christmas away from home she would let us pick out the pattern/colours and she would crochet an afghan for Christmas. I had mine picked out several years in advance 🙂 Unfortunately my mom died my last year of high school. But unbeknownst to me, someone found an afghan she had made (it was a style she usually made for gifts) after the fact, and stashed it away for my Christmas present. So we’re all together opening gifts and I see “To Michelle Love Mom” on a big box. Well of course I cry my eyes out! I’m tearing up right now! :bighanky:
 
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