Tenth Christmas

I had no more illusions about Christmas. I knew our gifts would come from Mom and Dad, so it's easier to go to bed on Christmas Eve now. This may have been the year I started sitting with Mom after all the visitors had gone. Just like when I was born in '51. We sat admiring the hospital's tree that first Christmas Eve, and we would commemorate that event sitting in the living room watching the lights from our tree cast shadows on the walls and ceiling.
My birthday is coming too, and I'll be ten years old, so I've got to start growing up now. Lots of birthdays to go to; my classmates are hitting their tenth year on earth as well. I seem to remember having one birthday at my house with friends from school. Was it 1961? Seems right. I remember it was kind of a disaster, with ten year old boys running amok in our basement, and I was glad when it was all over and the savages had gone. I vaguely remember Mom muttering "Never again," or something to that effect.
No new bicycle this time, the red Rixe would have to last another year, at least.
This would be a Civil War Christmas for me. 1961 marked the 100th anniversary of the War Between the States, and I asked for all kinds of stuff related to Johnny Reb and Billy Yank.
The Golden Book of the Civil War,and Battle Cry-the Milton Bradley board game. Carl and I both asked for Johnny Reb Cannons, plastic replicas of field guns that shot black plastic cannon balls at your enemies-real or imagined.
Amazing toys coming out in 1961. Robot Commando-the plastic robot that shoots missiles out of its head. The ever popular Mattel Fanner 50 six-gun that fires Shootin' Shells. Jet fighter cockpits and Civil War carbines and plastic sabres. Marx would have the giant Blue and the Gray toy soldier playset, and I hoped to get that for sure. Crashmobile cars that you snapped together and turned them loose to fly apart when they smashed into the wall or the living room furniture. I don't know what the girls were asking for. Barbie's new boyfriend Ken, maybe? Toys for boys were exciting and violent and adventurous kinds of things, and we'd celebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace asking for replicas of the weapons of war.
The new Christmas songs no longer seemed out of place. "Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree" and "Jingle Bell Rock" and others had taken their place alongside the old familiar carols and were now a part of the tradition.
I still preferred a real Christmas tree. There were some folks putting up those new aluminum things, all silvery and decorated in one color, and how hideous they seemed to me. A lot like the people who decorated their homes with those blue lights; their houses looked depressing and gloomy in this season of good cheer.
More and more the cries that Christmas was becoming too commercialized, that the true meaning of the holiday was getting lost in all the hustle and bustle. The true meaning of it all was clear to us kids; time off from school and sleeping late and presents and hopefully enough snow on the ground to go sledding down Chestnut Hill.
This was that breathing space we all needed. A time to blow off steam and take a break from all the serious stuff in the world and at school. A time for wishing and parents laughing and our homes bright beacons welcoming us in from the cold.
Mom would paint Santa Claus on the living room window this year, and Carl and I would snooze away Christmas Eve in our bunk beds once more.
I didn't hear Mom and Dad getting the presents down from the attic this year.
I tried to, but sleep overwhelmed me.
I'm an old hand at this stuff now.