Christmas in the Moore family household was never a lavish affair — but it was still a time for sharing a lot of laughter and showing each other how much we cared.
In the early years when my parents were on a tight budget, my dad and I would often cut down a tree in the massive wooded area behind our house that had once served as a World War I training camp.
Camp Greene was abandoned after the war and as the decades passed, much of the surrounding area became housing and retail centers. By the 1970s, however, what remained was now a forest of several acres, with only old concrete bridge abutments and building foundations left behind as spooky reminders of what had once been.
With neighborhood friends in tow, I spent hours exploring and familiarizing myself with the pathways that intertwined throughout the woods.
When it came time to find the perfect tree, I had usually picked out a few for consideration earlier in the year and was able to point my father in their direction without much effort.
Looking back on those tree-hunting excursions now, I still hear the dry winter leaves crunching underneath our feet and I can see a very personal ritual between father and son. My sisters weren’t allowed to go or play in the woods for fear that some harm might come to them specifically because of their gender.
My father was the head of the household and I was the only son. In the minds of my parents — that meant we could take care of ourselves. Of course, now I see that as totally sexist. But back then, it seemed somehow rewarding that this annual responsibility was only ours to share.
In the years to come that ritual would change. When my father began to make more money it was decided that it was inappropriate for us to chop down a tree. Now we would buy one from a Christmas tree lot at the nearby shopping center. Nevertheless, the activity was still seen as the responsibility of father and son.
When it came to gift giving — my memory of those childhood years is a bit fuzzy, although a few things stand out.
Seemingly every year, from at least one of us, my father was always the grand recipient of an Old Spice gift set — aftershave, shaving cream and soap on a rope. I can smell it even now. I can only imagine how weary he must have grown of that scent — yet he still accepted it year after year with a silly grin and a muttered thank you.
How many years I’ll never recall, but on multiple occasions my father would regally present my mother with the distinctive bathrobe and bedroom slipper set — only they usually weren’t exactly a set.
Perhaps my dad was color blind — I’ll never know — but I’ll never forget the look of sheer horror on my mother’s face the year she opened one of her packages to find a vibrant pink quilted nylon and polyester bathrobe with a pair of neon acid green fuzzy bedroom shoes. As soon as our eyes met we both knew what she was thinking — but her face quickly softened before she turned to my father with a big smile and a heartfelt thanks.
For my sisters, and later for their children, I was prone to buying things that I thought were totally cool. They didn’t always share that sentiment, however.
The costume jewelry ring with a massive golf ball-sized blue faux sapphire surrounded by an endless array of tiny diamonelles may have looked fabulous on Agnes Moorehead’s finger in an episode of “Bewitched,” but for my 16-year-old sister it didn’t mix so well with bell bottoms and mini skirts. It disappeared quickly, never to be seen again. I was outraged at her lack of taste.
A decade later — at the height of the ’80s new wave craze — I was determined to make my sister’s daughter the coolest little girl in town. I promptly purchased a purple vinyl mini-skirt along with shoes and a blouse that looked fit for any member of The Go-Gos or The Bangles. My niece totally kicked it to the curb when her mother offered up an ultra-girly red crushed velvet dress with a frilly lace collar. This time I wasn’t outraged, but it did make me question the role genetics played in personal taste (or lack of).
These days my partner and I have created our own secular sort of way to celebrate the season and show or friends and family how much we care about them. That usually involves Christmas Eve at our place and parts of Christmas spent with my mom here and his family in Atlanta.
As it was with my parents and sisters when I was a child, we still prefer to keep it pretty simple. Some years we might spend a lot on a new gadget, while other times we’ll spend way less if there isn’t anything particular we’ve had our eyes on. The warmth, caring and love for each other is just as solid with or without a fancy tree or expensive gifts.
That’s the great thing about the holiday season — you don’t have to spend any money just to enjoy being with each other.
— Check out our special Holiday Recollections from other Q-Notes staff and readers in Q-Living.
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