‘Spirit of Christmas Past‘ is a series of holiday memories that are keeping me warm this season.  As if I needed to be any warmer…

It was the only Christmas I recall getting in trouble, December 23, 1993.  Mom and Dad were in the bathroom showering and dressing for the day.  My sister Toni was watching a cartoon holding her stuffed rabbit, “Bun Bun”.

I was raring to go.  I’d gotten ready quickly because I knew who was stopping by our house —a big, jolly guy with white hair who drove a blue and gray Chevy Astro minivan.  It had become something of a tradition—my grandpa, “Gramps”, drove his van all over Norman, Oklahoma picking up most of his 19 grandkids.  Then, he took us to his house for an entire day of preparing a Christmas concert that would stun our parents on Christmas Eve night, when we were all together.

As fun as it sounds, the Christmas concert practice session was Carnegie Hall-serious.  Kids like me who couldn’t carry a tune had to learn to fake it or Gramps would call us out for being off-key.

The rigorous day was broken into parts.  The break times were handled by my grandma, “Granny”.  We’d go to her kitchen where she’d have a magnificent table spread of 100 McDonald’s chicken nuggets, cookies, and Cokes.  I had to fend for myself at that table.  Everyone was hungry after Gramps’ morning rehearsal.

But, on December 23, 1993 as my parents got ready in the bathroom, Toni watched TV, and I anticipated seeing that big, jolly guy—I decided to break the rules.  I snooped in the gifts.  Mom had put a tiny hand-sized gift sack in the tree.  I knew it was a gift because I hadn’t seen it there the previous day.

I made sure no one was looking, and I opened it.  Inside was a silver cross medallion on a black cord necklace.  I knew it was for me or Toni.  At that moment, I heard Mom coming down the stairs.  I panicked.  I hurried to re-wrap it and set it back in the tree.  As Mom walked into the living room, her eyes immediately saw the sack on the tree.  She noticed it had moved two inches to the left.

“Travis did you look in that sack?,” she asked as her eyes started to tear up.

“Yes,” I said, my stomach churning.

“That was a special surprise,” her voice cracked.

I seemed to have stolen the spirit of the entire season with that one peek.  Mom didn’t have to get mad for me to feel bad.  She wore her heart on her sleeve—those sad eyes were all I needed to feel like the darkest of black coal was in my future.

As Mom turned back toward the tree, the Astro minivan glided into the driveway.  What I had expected to be a moment of excitement now only felt like a moment I didn’t deserve.  I thought I should tell Gramps I wasn’t worthy of a ride in his van this Christmas.

Instead, Toni and I ran to the van, not mentioning what had just happened.  We hopped in and joined our other cousins who were already inside.  The Christmas music Gramps played on the radio, and the laughing and talking of all my other cousins helped me feel less like a Scrooge.

As I grew up, some of my uncles and Dad would always say, “Everybody’s got their shitties.“  And, that Christmas in 1993, I realized that’s what made Gramps better than Santa.  He knew we all had our shitties.  But, he never thought twice about letting us in that van.