The Best Christmas Ever
Every year about this time when you are an adult you find yourself reflecting on the past. Christmas is like a bookmark in our lives and while one might blend into the next there are often moments or traditions that hold a specific significance. Sometimes, they are remarkable for their simplicity.
When I was a young man my parents took me to Europe. It was my second time across the Atlantic. When I was younger we spent a summer driving around to genealogical sites and visiting the English Country Side. It was a magical introduction yet this trip however was different. This time it would be a trip that would span London to Vienna and Rome. In three short weeks I would visit or cross five countries and enter the greatest capitals created in the history of the world. It was also Christmas time and with a plane fare too low to resist, we boarded a nearly empty DC10 and left the eternal darkness of Alaska for Europe.
I was fortunate, as an only child my parents could make the sacrifice and bring me. For families with multiple children the economics made it impossible. The exposure for me was priceless and it created a gateway that I have never closed in my life. It opened my mind and forever established a desire to return. It taught me about being open minded and knowing people different than myself. It schooled me on what it is like to turn on a TV with three channels, two occupied by a man throwing darts and another by a man playing snooker. I still don't understand the later. Most of all, it helped me realize that there were things in the world much greater than myself.
I don't remember my age exactly and I don't remember the order of events but the images still flow in my mind as if it was yesterday. Walking the cold streets of Vienna. Traveling on a train from Austria to Rome and passing through the Austrian Alps. Fields blanketed with snow and medieval castles crowning hills like sentinels standing strong against a back drop of gray, snow topped mountains. Empty Venetian streets spreading out like a maze and crowded train stations. Machines selling Swiss chocolates and menus I couldn't read.
We passed Christmas Eve in London staying at a hotel a few blocks from Hyde Park called The London House. Like nearly every mid-range hotel in London it was owned by Indians and was badly in need of an update. Sitting just off the sidewalk with an unassuming staircase and looking nearly identical to everything around it, the rooms had a small kitchen and an enormous Murphy bed that pulled down from the wall. They introduced me to bathing without a shower. I still cant figure out if you are supposed to stand or sit while you hold the hose over your head. I learned about a bidet and marveled at the spigot sending water where it wasn't supposed to go.
I remember walking the chilly sidewalks of Regent street and discovering the worlds greatest toy store for the second time in my life. Hamley's had an enormous entry way stretching up multiple stories with a balcony wringing it. A train ran along the edge perfectly framing the countless tables and stacks of boxes filled with every toy a child could imagine.
I remember vendors selling hot chestnuts and lights strung over the shopping streets. I remember men selling art outside Hyde Park and buying a set of Napoleonic Military prints that still hang on my wall.
My mother was never one to sacrifice Christmas and with the holiday in her heart we found a scraggly miniature pine tree that made Charlie Brown's tree look like the one that graces the White House or Rockefeller Center. We had no ornaments so we visited Hamley's again and purchased a set of colored blow plastic. It was the type most assuredly filled with cancer causing chemicals and with the ignition point of a piece of tissue paper. You inserted a straw in a blob of the stuff and blowing as hard as possible created a plastic orb you could pinch off. With sore lips from blowing in the tubes we decorated our tree with these and little else. I don't even remember a present beneath the shrub yet for some reason, it was the most perfect Christmas I ever had or ever will have.
Perhaps it was the place or perhaps it was the simplicity. Somewhere in that setting I felt loved by my parents more than any other. I felt magic and I felt a spirit of Christmas.
Postscript: A day after I wrote this post I turned on the TV to find it was the anniversary of John Lennon's death. It has been 30 years since he died. This moment had symbolism for me because it was the same December we went to London. I remember the tabloids covered with his pictures and magazines on every newsstand with special editions. I think I still might even have a few. So there it was... a quick bout of math, 30 years ago... lets see, I was 13. The same age my son is today. How I wish I could give him the same.
When I was a young man my parents took me to Europe. It was my second time across the Atlantic. When I was younger we spent a summer driving around to genealogical sites and visiting the English Country Side. It was a magical introduction yet this trip however was different. This time it would be a trip that would span London to Vienna and Rome. In three short weeks I would visit or cross five countries and enter the greatest capitals created in the history of the world. It was also Christmas time and with a plane fare too low to resist, we boarded a nearly empty DC10 and left the eternal darkness of Alaska for Europe. I was fortunate, as an only child my parents could make the sacrifice and bring me. For families with multiple children the economics made it impossible. The exposure for me was priceless and it created a gateway that I have never closed in my life. It opened my mind and forever established a desire to return. It taught me about being open minded and knowing people different than myself. It schooled me on what it is like to turn on a TV with three channels, two occupied by a man throwing darts and another by a man playing snooker. I still don't understand the later. Most of all, it helped me realize that there were things in the world much greater than myself.
I don't remember my age exactly and I don't remember the order of events but the images still flow in my mind as if it was yesterday. Walking the cold streets of Vienna. Traveling on a train from Austria to Rome and passing through the Austrian Alps. Fields blanketed with snow and medieval castles crowning hills like sentinels standing strong against a back drop of gray, snow topped mountains. Empty Venetian streets spreading out like a maze and crowded train stations. Machines selling Swiss chocolates and menus I couldn't read.We passed Christmas Eve in London staying at a hotel a few blocks from Hyde Park called The London House. Like nearly every mid-range hotel in London it was owned by Indians and was badly in need of an update. Sitting just off the sidewalk with an unassuming staircase and looking nearly identical to everything around it, the rooms had a small kitchen and an enormous Murphy bed that pulled down from the wall. They introduced me to bathing without a shower. I still cant figure out if you are supposed to stand or sit while you hold the hose over your head. I learned about a bidet and marveled at the spigot sending water where it wasn't supposed to go.
I remember walking the chilly sidewalks of Regent street and discovering the worlds greatest toy store for the second time in my life. Hamley's had an enormous entry way stretching up multiple stories with a balcony wringing it. A train ran along the edge perfectly framing the countless tables and stacks of boxes filled with every toy a child could imagine.I remember vendors selling hot chestnuts and lights strung over the shopping streets. I remember men selling art outside Hyde Park and buying a set of Napoleonic Military prints that still hang on my wall.
My mother was never one to sacrifice Christmas and with the holiday in her heart we found a scraggly miniature pine tree that made Charlie Brown's tree look like the one that graces the White House or Rockefeller Center. We had no ornaments so we visited Hamley's again and purchased a set of colored blow plastic. It was the type most assuredly filled with cancer causing chemicals and with the ignition point of a piece of tissue paper. You inserted a straw in a blob of the stuff and blowing as hard as possible created a plastic orb you could pinch off. With sore lips from blowing in the tubes we decorated our tree with these and little else. I don't even remember a present beneath the shrub yet for some reason, it was the most perfect Christmas I ever had or ever will have.
Perhaps it was the place or perhaps it was the simplicity. Somewhere in that setting I felt loved by my parents more than any other. I felt magic and I felt a spirit of Christmas.
Postscript: A day after I wrote this post I turned on the TV to find it was the anniversary of John Lennon's death. It has been 30 years since he died. This moment had symbolism for me because it was the same December we went to London. I remember the tabloids covered with his pictures and magazines on every newsstand with special editions. I think I still might even have a few. So there it was... a quick bout of math, 30 years ago... lets see, I was 13. The same age my son is today. How I wish I could give him the same.
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