My Childhood Christmas Experience

 

Not My Childhood Tree

I grew up poor. I lived in a 3-bedroom apartment with my mother in the late 70's and late 1980's. In that time, I experienced what it was like to be poor at Christmas time. I remember one year, my mother gave my brother and I $10 and said to go get a Christmas tree. 

So I walked with him to the local tree seller behind the IGA in Winnipeg right off Beliveau road. Technically, the lot was on the corner of Dakota and St. Mary's.

Anyway, when I got down there they didn't have many trees available for $10. I finally found one - a bit scraggly and not the perfect tree. I ended up carrying it home with my brother, about a kilometer, home and up 3 flights of stairs to the living room.

We set the tree up, and then made home-made decorations such as popcorn string decorations. It wasn't about the gifts. My father was an electrician who worked in a small town about an hour west of Winnipeg. He lived with my grandma, and had a huge alcohol problem.

Just like the rest of my family.

In between memories of screaming matches between my mother and father, there are few nice memories. And although my mother did cook Christmas dinner, it felt more like a boot camp than an actual holiday event. 

We cleaned up before company came over, went to our bedrooms when the loud music started to play on the stereo. I have no idea how we never were evicted for loud music. 

Cleaning up after Christmas was absolutely necessary. Those trees were shedding needles constantly, and were a fire hazard. The further back I go into my mind of Christmas, the stranger it gets.

I remember catching my father drinking from Santa's cup one late night, when I was about 5 years old. Years later, my fond Christmas memories are with Theresa. We didn't have extravagant holidays. We stayed with her folks, helping with cooking and cleaning. Back then, George and Marion were in their late 50's or early 60's. George was in his 70's by my memory. All are long dead.

It was never about lunging for Tickle me Elmo or the latest Atari or Nintendo game. I realized quickly that things cost money, and that clothes were the best gift to receive. 

I was grateful for what I learned and received. Some memories are not worth reliving. 

For example, when my stepfather Bert raged at the dinner table, half drunk, because there was no turkey leg or neck piece for him to eat. This kind of crap gets on you for years. He had a violent temper. I remember he would spend days literally drinking beer or rum, listening to movies loudly, or playing music.

What a time to be alive back then.

Moving on.