Linda McMorrow, NEFAR president
When I was a small child in a military family, our father was stationed in Germany just after the Second World War.
My sister, brother and I were some of the first dependent children to go to Germany. The country was heavily damaged from the war — many streets were all rubble with no standing buildings.
As part of the efforts of the American government to help this country get back on its feet and help tend to the thousands of orphaned children, the American children visited the orphanages delivering clothes, food and toys.
I remember the first Christmas we were there. The countryside looked like a storybook. Everything covered with snow, the tree branches bending with the weight. It covered up the ugliness the war had made of everything.
On our first visit to the orphanage, we arrived with warm clothes, toys and food. The children, many of them very timid due to the trauma of war, walked past the clothes and toys and with tears filling their cheeks and smiles filling their faces, grabbed the large oranges we had brought!
I learned at an early age that life’s experiences change your priorities.
Ron Harris, NEFBA SMC chairman
We always had a big Christmas at my home when I was growing up. My brother and I did not get a lot of toys during the year except for our birthday and Christmas.
The Christmas when I was in seventh grade, I let my Dad and Mom, Santa and everyone else that had any pull know that my brother and I wanted a go-kart. Our home backed up to a large parking lot and I already had it figured for my very own private race track.
Christmas morning came and went — lots of toys, but no go-kart. I personally felt a little guilty for being so disappointed. I figured I would go for it again on my next birthday.
After lunch, my Dad asked if we wanted to go to his office with him.
When we arrived he sent me into the workshop for something. And there it was — the COOLEST and FASTEST go-kart in the neighborhood.
My brother and I must have put 10,000 miles on it. It was the best Christmas gift ever.
Judy Hicks, Realtor
I was in my early 20s traveling throughout the Midwest and had the opportunity to go home and visit my parents for Christmas. My dad, Burl, was quite a funny guy, and he and my younger sister — 16 at the time — were a tag team in laughs.
My mom had purchased some Hershey’s Kisses and I had eaten so many of them that I decided that they needed to go away. So, off I went to the ladies room with the announcement, “When I return I do not want them in the room!”
Well, when I returned I found the entire living room had been lined with Hershey’s Kisses. They were everywhere — along the back of the sofa, arms of the sofa, all along the coffee table, end tables, TV, stereo, etc.
They thought that was very funny, as did I, until I opened my Christmas gift the next morning and their laughing continued.
My dad was a coal miner, and he put a big piece of coal in a really big box and made it pretty for me.
When I opened it, he said “I thought you would LOVE it.”
Yeah, right Dad.
Silly stuff, but man it was funny. I miss him. I still have my sister, but I sure miss my dad’s funny side.
Sally Suslak, Traditions Realty
When I was growing up, a million years ago in Salem, Mass., on Christmas Eve we would celebrate with my father’s family.
All my cousins and their families would gather at my grandparents’ house, where we would have dinner and be kids.
My grandfather would always put a silver dollar under the dinner plate of each grandchild, which was a fortune for a 5-year-old.
The other thing that is vivid in my memory a half-century later is that the Christmas tree was always freshly cut and it was illuminated with real candles with real flames.
Funny, no one was worried that the house would catch on fire!
Selby Kaiser, The Legends of Real Estate
Friends are family at Christmas.
Before my husband retired from the Army, we were stationed at Fort Monroe, Va., where we lived in an old set of quarters.
This house, built in 1891, was located outside the old fort. In fact, the moat of the fort was in our backyard. There was a bridge across the moat that led inside the old historic fort that guarded the entrance to the James River at the Chesapeake Bay.
Our tradition was to have a family cocktail buffet supper on Christmas Eve. “Family” included our friends who did not go home for Christmas, any family or friends visiting them, and the bachelor officers with no wives or children.
After a festive dinner and lots of Christmas drinks, we would all process as a group across the moat into the old fort to the Chapel of the Centurion for Christmas midnight church. We would bundle up and walk through the cold, and sometimes snow — a merry band of revelers, full of Christmas cheer — to share in the celebration of the birth of Christ.
The service always ended with the candlelight singing of Silent Night. Our return across the moat was more subdued, with our hearts full of the holy feelings of love, friendship and Christmas peace.
Carole Hawkins, Realty-Builder Connection
My husband, Doug, was very good at keeping Santa Claus “alive” with our kids, and did so for many years.
Whenever one of them would say something like, “Patrick told me Santa isn’t real,” Doug would say, “Well, maybe Santa doesn’t come to Patrick’s house. Maybe he wasn’t good.”
When our eldest, Justin, was in third grade, he came home from school one day, upset about being teased for believing in Santa Claus.
Doug said, “Who in your class says Santa isn’t real?”
Justin said, “Everyone.”
I pulled Doug aside and said, “You have to tell him. He’s going to get his butt kicked by the other kids.”
So Doug took Justin into his room and had the talk — there was no Santa.
Justin cried. Doug cried, too.
Corey Hacker, NEFBA
Gravy, oh how I love thee, let me count the ways. Gravy is a beautiful holiday art that many attempt, but only few perfect.
I think most would agree there is nothing quite like it, and I’m not afraid to say my Mama’s was the best!
In my family, we would covet the beautiful brown buttery goodness that can only come from the drippings of a perfectly prepared Christmas bird. We waited for this delicious treat all year long, dreaming of the way it would pool in our mashed potatoes and run down the sides of the turkey my father had flawlessly carved.
I will never forget the way he eyed us as we poured the liquid gold onto our plates. You knew it would be a cardinal sin to take a drop more than your fair share.
I am sad to say I haven’t had that gorgeous gravy in over 13 years.
I lost my mother when I was 18 years old and have missed everything about her since. The holidays are especially difficult, with so many things that remind me of her. But one thing I miss in particular, THE gravy.
I have since married my wonderful husband, David, and we now celebrate Christmas with his family.
The Hackers are the most wonderful in-laws a girl could ask for. Every holiday they welcome my father, brother and me with open arms.
However, this perfect family does have one major flaw. They smoke every single turkey they ever make. Every single one!
While a smoked turkey is tasty enough on its own, it yields no dripping, meaning NO GRAVY! If you know anything about gravy you know it MUST be made from drippings, everything else is garbage! I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, but those are the facts people.
Perhaps this year I will be one of the many who attempt the art that is gravy making.
For now, I salute those of you who stick your hands up that turkey carcass, roast that bird, reserve the drippings, separate the fat and transform what appeared to be a frozen rock into the nectar of the gods we all know as gravy.
Amber Williams, Lennar Homes
One of my favorite Christmas memories didn’t happen on Christmas at all.
A few weeks prior to the big day, mom would be busy planning, making checklists, folding down pages in magazines with gifts to buy and doing her best to make sure everyone had an amazing Christmas.
Part of this process was to send out our family Christmas cards. This was not, however, the favorite activity for myself and my two brothers.
Mom would dress us in matching clothes and make sure we had the perfect photo background. Then she would arrange the three of us next to each other and do her best to pose us just so.
Then the games began. “He’s touching me!” “He smells funny!” “Stop leaning on me!” “Her hair is in my face!”
Mom would quickly follow our barrage of squawking with “Blake, don’t hit your brother. Amber, he does not smell funny. Dustin, sit up straight. Now … everyone smile!”
The agony of Christmas photos wasn’t any more fun for mom than it was the three of us, but somehow, she always managed to take one photo that made us look like perfect little angels.
God bless her, and the wonderful Christmas memories that she made for us.
Steve Light, Watson Realty
You never grow too old to meet with Santa.
Christmas is a time of giving, a time of joy and a time for feeling like a kid again.
I always loved going to see Santa. I’d tell him what I wanted for Christmas, and he’d boast a hearty “Ho, ho, ho.” He gave me the feeling that I could have it all. But, only if I were a good boy, up until Christmas. “Naughty kids get a lump of coal,” he said.
My first recollection of meeting the big guy goes all the way back to 1964. Wow, he was bigger than life! Back then, Christmas was all about the kids, it wasn’t so commercialized. Santa would spend time with us, and he truly and sincerely, cared about what kids wanted for Christmas.
Today, Santa and his helpers shuffle you through, take a quick photo — charge Mom and Dad $15 for prints — and rush you along. It’s just not the same.
Last year, I had the chance to meet with Santa, as an adult. However, not the shopping mall Santa.
This Santa came to visit our Realtor-builder community and we shared some quality time.
This is the Santa I came to know and love as a child. He is real, he does exist!
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.