Jerry Ahern - Author and Columnist

Jerry has been gone for a few years now; his last Christmas with us was in 2011. Since then there have been a few notable changes to our Christmas festivities. The grandkids are older, and the frenzied ripping of wrapping paper and the subsequent throwing of same has toned down a bit and toys for the most part have been replaced with electronics and gift cards. Our big sit-down dinner has become a more relaxed affair and timing has become more dictated by the comings and goings of various members’ complicated schedules. Still, I appreciate that we can still get together and share family time.

Neither Jerry nor I were born to rich parents. Both our families were able to provide us with life’s necessities but many times there was not a lot of money left over for nonessentials. This was not uncommon in the early 1950s so we were definitely not alone and did not feel slighted by either the big guy in red or by our parents. We might not have gotten a lot for Christmas but we knew that Santa had dropped by, finished off the milk and cookies, left a few things and, that was what was important.

Growing up (well sort of) and having children of our own was a wonderful experience, especially during the Christmas season. Hunting for the perfect tree or the one we felt most sorry for usually turned into an all day affair tramping through the snow in the frigid wastelands of suburban Chicago. We moved to Georgia and the kids grew up in an old steamboat gothic house with twelve foot ceilings and a wide, open foyer. Once the tree was cut down from a nearby tree farm, pulled through the front door and we stood it up, our perfect tree usually had to have a few feet whittled off, and then, of course, the entire bottom had to be sculpted and trimmed down. For some reason, when we'd erect it once more, we would realize that the trunk was swayback and the top was not even close to pointing in an upwards direction. Jerry would solve this problem by tying a rope to the top and securing it to the tongue in groove pine ceiling with nails. Once the ornaments were all on you could barely see the rope hidden behind the angel or star. This system worked well except for the few times it didn’t, thanks to tree climbing cats or tail swishing dogs.

Christmas morning, the kids would wait at the top of the stairs until given the signal to come on down. This was so we could have Grandma and Grandpa comfortably seated at a safe distance and all adults were fortified with a hot cup of caffeine. We tried to have plenty for the kids to unwrap; we would wrap candy bars individually, anything to prolong the fun. Many times, after the kids had finished unwrapping their stuff, Jerry and I would still be at it. He would gift me with an abundance of dish towels, each wrapped separately, of course. Serving spoons of various colors and sizes each came in their own package. The children and I always got back at him by wrapping a dozen socks into twenty-four little packages along with anything else we could divide up.

The gifts themselves were never as important as the fun we had giving them to each other and just enjoying being a family, albeit maybe not entirely sane but...

Sharon