A Christmas Story

By Jeremy Schoenfeld

December 1992

As they lay nestled in their bed… Original source illustration; artist not credited.

Historical December 1992 article. Dates, prices, services and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.

During a recent Christmas our relatives from Michigan came to visit.

With them they brought Grandma, presents, and traditions.

They arrived on Christmas eve, and as the adults unloaded the car, we kids sat down in the living room.

We had not seen each other for months and we sat in silence until all the bags had been brought in.

My little brother then proceeded to give a tour of our house to anyone who was interested.

I helped carry bags to the bedrooms, which we had carefully assigned as follows: Grandma would get Mom and Dad’s bedroom. Uncle Charles and Aunt Carol would get the hide-a-bed in the family room.

My cousin Allison and my brother would sleep in my room in the bunkbeds.

My mom and dad would sleep in the bed in the basement, and my cousin Ben and I would sleep on the floor in my room.

This arrangement was fine with everyone except Ben, Allison and me. Ben and I were angry because we had to sleep on the floor, and Allison was angry because she had to sleep two doors away from her mom.

After a lot of discussion, we came up with a new sleeping arrangement.

It was mostly like the first plan, only Allison shared Aunt Carol and Uncle Charles’ bed. Ben got the extra bunk, and I stayed on the floor. By the time everyone was settled, it was almost eight o’clock. It’s a Wonderful Life was on all three major stations (The Christmas Bikini Open was on Fox 30), so we all crammed ourselves into the family room and watched.

My brother flipped through the stations and we saw every scene at least twice. Around nine-thirty Allison and my brother began to get sleepy, and they went off to get ready for bed. Soon after, Dad turned off the TV and we all went to bed.

I woke up the next morning at 7:03 a.m. (I know, because I always look at the clock first thing in the morning.) To my surprise, Allison and my brother were playing Poker on the top bunk and Ben was reading a book in the lower one.

I asked why they hadn’t awakened me or our parents so we could open presents. That was when I heard of a sadistic Christmas ritual.

My cousins weren’t allowed to go downstairs until their parents woke up—by themselves! And when they did wake up, they had to eat breakfast first! So, with anger welling up inside me, I grabbed the Etch-a-Sketch and began busily working on a picture of my house.

I had to stop after a few minutes because I was getting frustrated over the fact that I had to draw lines across the house to get to the window. (Who invented the Etch-a-Sketch anyway? What a creep!) At about 8:20 our parents woke up (or got up, anyway).

My brother and Allison ran downstairs in front of us to get a glimpse of the presents, but before they had even set foot in the living room, my dad and Uncle Charles caught them and dragged them into the dining room.

There we sat, just ten feet away from our presents—and we couldn’t even touch them.

I couldn’t believe how long it took to make breakfast. Of course, we had to have waffles and wait for the griddle to warm up, after Grandma mixed the batter. Dad said they forgot to turn it on, but I knew he was just making us suffer.

This was our parents’ way of getting back at us, because they don’t get neat gifts.

All they get is a lumpy pinch-pot that their kid made in school and a construction paper card that says,”Roses are red, Vilets are blue, Mary Chrismis deer Mom, and I love you !!!!!! ” We kids ate breakfast as quickly as we could. Grandma told us we would be sorry later, but we didn’t listen.

We waited impatiently as our parents slowly finished their waffles, and when they finally finished, we raced to the tree and began tearing away giftwrap. That morning I unwrapped forty boxes containing everything from socks to stationery to clearance toys from K-Mart.

My cousins had a combined total of thirty gifts. Granted, they were items such as CDs, radios and jewelry, but they felt bad as my brother and I continued to open presents. You see, my parents had learned the secret to Christmas shopping, which is explained by this simple statement: A multitude of inexpensive endowments is more respected than a scarce number of costly benefactions. (Or, a lot of cheap presents are better than a few expensive ones.) Jeremy Schoenfeld of 6100 Westminster Place is a freshman at St. Louis University High School and a former student at New City and St. Roch schools.