Dear Santa:
If I could have one thing for Christmas this year, I wouldn’t ask for a car. I wouldn’t ask for world peace. I wouldn’t ask for a winning lottery ticket.
I would ask to feel like my 10-year-old self on Christmas just one more time.
I would ask for the smell of the Scotch pine my dad would always get. No spiky, scentless short needle trees for him. He was a long needle guy all the way, and so am I.
I would ask for one more chance to trim the tree with everybody, even though dad would always growl at us for bunching the ornaments too close and we kids (six of us) would always squabble over who got to hang what ornament where. Dad’s gone now. So is brother Dan. I often don’t see the rest at Christmas because the U.P. is so far away. I miss them all terribly all year, but especially at Christmas.
I would ask for one more tree squint. Tree squinting – where you fuzz your vision and the bulbs double in size and shoot daggers of light in all directions – was a thing I did as a kid. For some reason, it made me feel peaceful and tingly all at once, which is an odd combination.
I would ask for one more 5 a.m. Christmas morning paper route run with my dad. I used to deliver the Milwaukee Journal and Milwaukee Sentinel. The Christmas Day editions were huge and the snow was usually neck deep to a little kid. (I grew up in the Upper Peninsula and never, ever knew a brown Christmas.) Dad – who wouldn’t do this any other day of the year, rain, sleet or blizzard – would drive me around so I’d be done by 6:30, which was present time.
I would ask for one more chance to sit breathlessly atop the stairs with my brothers and sister, waiting, waiting, waiting for mom and dad to give us the all-clear to hit the living room. (For some reason, they always made a big show of going down first to make sure Santa came.)
I would ask for one more Heller present-fest. You’ve never seen the likes, trust me. We did it up big. By the time we were done, you couldn’t’ see the floor. Sometimes you’d step on the dog.
I would ask for one more Christmas with my grandmothers, Rose and Jean, who would always – like my mom and dad – insist on being the last to open their gifts because, to them, watching the kids open theirs was the best part of Christmas. At the time, I didn’t understand how that could be so, but I got it the second I had kids of my own. Now I do the same thing.
I would ask for one more huge Heller Christmas breakfast (we went to church the night before). One more all-day, all-night game-fest. One more huge family dinner (thanks, mom). One more chance to cook a steak (his annual gift) for my dog Barney. One more endless roaring fire. (Dad would burn most of the wrapping paper and boxes.) One more chance to smile, laugh, argue and bicker with my siblings.
But most of all, I would like – just one more time – to feel the wonder, magic and excitement of Christmas the way I felt it back then. Every sight, sound, smell and emotion. The good and the not-so-good.
I miss it more with each passing year. Can you give me that back, Santa? Just one time?
I’ll be waiting. And hoping.
Sincerely, Andy.
Image via YouTube
Perfect, Andy. Just…….perfect.
Thank you.
I’m sitting here crying and squinting at the tree to see those daggers of light. Remembering Grandma’s cookies on Christmas Eve, the ride home looking for glimpses of Santa out the car’s back window while WJR gave us updates about his travels, and going straight to bed when told. Christmas morning was the ONE day when Dad didn’t have to wake us up. Thank you for stirring those wonderful memories. Perfect for Christmas!
Fantastic!
Thanks for a wonderful column, maybe one of your best ever.
Thank you, Nancy. As I read it, I’m seeing things I should have done with it – I’ve made five changes already. Five more probably to come. I never like anything I write.
Good, neither do we. I would bet most of us would give up some rarely used body part in order to scribble the way you do. So it frosts us to have our thoughts and emotions put into words by some unrepentant Yooper transplant. Oh well, we thought that might happen once the bridge was built. Merry Christmas anyway.
Great column, Andy!
Thanks, Nick! I keep revising it, oddly enough.
Wonderful! Going to go squint at our tree~ I forgot about that.
Tree squinting is the best. Makes every light look like a supernova.
Very cool!
Thanks for the memories. Glad to find your column on my Facebook page. Missed seeing it in the Times
That is one great column. Thanks
Who could ask for anything more? Your Christmas Memories says it all!
Christmas blessings to your whole family!
OK. You used to make me cry … but for different reasons!!! Not true, but it sounds good. I love you and your beautiful family. This makes me miss Tempo and our little family more than ever. Merry Christmas y’all. (Fantastic column)
I miss Tempo and the FJ, too. Didn’t realize how good I/we had it. Damned internet.
You will get to relive those days, as soon as you have grandchildren, and the ages of three to ten seemed to be the best ages. Darn those teenagers anyway
Merry Christmas
Mark
Great post. Merry Christmas!
What an awesome column! Brought tears to my eyes! I’m gonna have to try that tree squinting!
Merry Christmas to you & your family!
Great Column. All of it sounds so familiar to me as well.
Merry Christmas, Paul!
Andrew, The joy will return. I am an old man, and I just had a nifty Christmas Eve with my bride, my mom, hilarious sister, and her best-friend husband. The Christmas joy will return. Please just wait. Be patient. Joy to the world!
You brought it back for me, Andy. It’s been a long time since I’ve been reminded of how I felt as a kid. Merry Christmas!
Cindy
Thanks, Cindy. I had no idea others felt the same way. I figured it was just me — i get sappy nostalgic.
Moved from MI to Denver 7 years and missed your column. So very glad I found it again. Wonderful column and Happy Holidays to you and your family.
Hey, that’s great, Nancy. Glad you found me here. I love Denver. May end up moving there someday. Loved Boulder in particular. Hiked there. Spread the word about the website for me out in Colo. please!!!!!
I have those feelings too Andy. The neat thing is I have been able to pass that same type of feeling and joy to my children. I am sure you did the same when they were younger. Even today, my kids get excited to help decorate and enjoy the season of Christmas. I am still a lucky person to be able to have both my parents and help them every Thanksgiving weekend getting all the Christmas decorations set up around their house. Would I like to be 10 again to visit Christmas? Sure I would. It was such an innocent time where Santa was larger than life and the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas seemed like 3 months!
Thanks, Johnny D. My kids are the same way.
Recalling my best Christmases when our girls were between 3 and 12 driving home to Marquette from L’Anse from Grandpa and Grandma J’s family Christmas Eve. The five cousins had a full day playing in the snow while the adults chatted and prepared the traditional dinner of lutefisk (not fondly recalled) and potato sausage. Before gifts, the kids would put on a little presentation, such as acting out “The Night Before Christmas” (complete with throwing up the sash). Driving home late, usually with snow faling, we would sing a few songs that usually included ” Jingle Bells” followed by DaYoopers’ “Rusty Chevrolet.” Then off to bed for everone except me, who usually had to finish (or start) the gift wrapping. Thanks for the oppirtunity to re-live these memories of this Yooper family Christmases in the ’80s and early ’90. Nothing since evokes such wonderful emotions.
I shared this column last year on FB and it popped up in my memories today, too. I miss those same kind of experiences. Oyster stew on Christmas Eve, piles of presents, the magic and wonder. I’d love to have that one more time.