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FOGDad n
(fôg, dæd) : Fine Old Gentleman (or
F____ng Old Guy) Father: An old guy with kids, he can be a little
cynical, i.e. he has heard it all before. He's rarely politically
correct, usually sarcastic and occasionally gruff. He can be liberal or
conservative, but is usually neither, although he is never "undecided".
He respects those who disagree and demands the same; ** HE TAKES
RESPONSIBILITY FOR, AND PRIDE IN, RAISING WONDERFUL YOUNG PEOPLE !!
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What an understatement. It's truly a magical time when people seem friendlier. Strangers wish strangers a "Merry Christmas". People who are always in a hurry and easily annoyed by life's inconveniences are suddenly overwhelmed with civility and somehow find patience in the long lines. Smiles and graciousness appears to rule the day. Everyone appreciates the wonderment of life. 'Peace on Earth and Goodwill towards Men' is the true catchphrase of the season. These are the feelings I experience during the Holidays and those feelings are a result of lifetime of enjoying "The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year".
My fondest memories of the season date back to the early sixties. In those days the Season began on Thanksgiving with Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV. That was Santa's first appearance of the year and when we began counting down the days. The following Friday would begin with a football game in the street, and if we were lucky, with snow on the ground. We would take a break for hot chocolate at one kid's house and then it was back to the game. Later in the afternoon, I would head over to the Five Points shopping area and check out the merchants' decorations. It was an opportunity to start developing my list for Santa, as well as acquire ideas for presents for my family. Now let me say that in the early 60's, I was at the age where I started to doubt the existence of Santa Clausee. However I was far from certain and didn't want to take any chances, so I faithfully wrote my annual letter to the big guy, listing the stuff that I desperately wanted. Whether or not there was a Santa, wasn't much of a concern to me. I considered the facts that I was certain of: I believed in Santa and I got gifts on Christmas. Why mess with a good thing? There was no point in discovering whether or not Santa Clause was real.
All the small businesses in our neighborhood decorated their stores pretty much the same way. From the butcher shop to the bakery to the hardware store, what they lacked in creativity, they more than made up for with Christmas spirit. Real pine garland that was intertwined with big, multi-colored light bulbs would frame their windows. There were images of snowmen, reindeer, Christmas Trees, Santa Clause and the like stenciled on the windows. In those days there was a window cleaner called "Glass Wax"; every Christmas Season they packed holiday stencils in with their product. I think they sold more of that product each December than they sold the rest of the months combined.
The first stop on my journey was Mr. Izzy's; it was the logical first stop. He was the Jewish merchant that had an Army-Navy Surplus store, and he was always one of the first to get his decorations up. Every boy needed a mess kit, flashlight and pocketknife for the summer's camping excursions in someone's back yard. And you could never go wrong by getting Dad a new pair of work gloves. The next stop was the Sears, Roebuck and Co. store. Sears had a toy section, sports department and a Santa Clause. I never passed up an opportunity to see the big guy in person. And the Sears Santa always gave each boy a baseball. It wasn't the finest quality, but quality wasn't a concern. When you play baseball on city streets or in parking lots, the ball gets torn up quickly, regardless of quality. Ergo, any baseball was appreciated.
There were several other places to visit: the imported gifts shop with all sorts of cheap Japanese knickknacks: a stop at the drug store for a soda at the counter: and there was always the main event; the big enchilada; the greatest store on the face of the earth: F.W. Woolworths, also known as "the dime store." Woolworths had it all; the true forerunner of today's Wal-Mart Superstore. There were aisles of toys, clothes, records and even a small hardware section. As you wandered down the aisles on a creaking hardwood floor, your mind was filled with ideas. Several possibilities for the gift exchange with your buddies, a paint-by-number picture for my little sister, reading glasses or maybe an ashtray for Pops and of course, a few little ceramic figurines for Mom.
I vividly remember one year in particular, when it started to snow in the afternoon and by the time I had finished visiting the local merchants, it was dark and the ground was covered. As I cut through an alley on the way home, I couldn't help but notice that the moving and storage company had unloaded their stock of Christmas trees and strung the big multi-color lights around their property. I could hear the seasonal music being piped outside by the Western Auto store and smell the pine from the trees. It was truly a remarkably enchanting moment when the world seemed to be a better place.
The next few weeks leading up to the big day were a hubbub of activity. My two best friends and I would huddle together and decide what we wanted from one another as a gift. Once that was decided, each boy would buy the same two gifts as the others. Although it took the surprise out of our gift exchange, we all got what we wanted and everybody spent the same on the gifts.
Our church saw increased activity prior to Christmas. While we all knew that Santa and God wasn't the same guy, we were firmly convinced that they shared open and frequent communication. Ergo, the lines at the confessionals were significantly longer in the weeks leading up to December 25th. We weren't taking any chances. The church was decorated magnificently. There were dozens of big trees on the altar. A nativity scene was placed in front of St. Joseph's statue and it was softly illuminated with a blue floodlight. Pine roping and wreaths with bows adorned each pew. The smell of pine was everywhere.
December 24th was second only to the 25th as being a big day. It was after all, the day before the day. It would generally start as all other days, playing with your buddies. But as afternoon approached there were other things that needed to be attended to. Presents you had wrapped needed to be checked. A quick cleaning of your room was in order; there was expected to be an increase in your stuff and you had to have someplace to put it. But the day's most important chore was to get a poinsettia plant and Christmas corsage for your Mom. So it was off to the guy that sold the trees at his moving company. Some years you could make a deal with him to get the plant and corsage. You just had to promise to show up after Christmas and work for him cleaning up the yard.
Christmas Eve began with excitement, anticipation and a bit of apprehension. Yet, as the evening progressed, an air of tranquility settled in. I remember sitting on the floor playing with the train, watching the snow falling and waiting for the trip to church and Midnight Mass. Sometime in the evening my uncle would show up with his latest girlfriend, both of them dressed in their finest attire. The ladies would sit in the kitchen drinking coffee while my Father and his brother would sit in the living room, drinking highballs and reminiscing about Christmas' past.
Eventually we were on the way to church and tension began mounting again. We knew that when we exited the church, it would be Christmas Day. But we had to endure the High Mass with all of its pomp and circumstance. The choir sang what I believed to be every Christmas hymn ever written. At the end the priest would mumble, in Latin, "Go in Peace. The Mass is ended." At which, the congregation would reply, also in Latin, "Thanks be to God." The choir would erupt into a chorus of "Joy to the World" and we would virtually float out of the church on an aura of blissful celebration. Oh, what a wonderful world it was.
There was always the requisite sighting of Santa on the ride home. Dad would hunch over the steering wheel, look up at the night sky and proclaim, "There he goes, there goes Santa." My sister and I would frantically crane our necks to see out of the car windows to get a glimpse of the big guy. But Mom would reply, "Oh, he's gone. The old boy is moving pretty quick tonight." And naturally, this brought the obligatory reply from Dad, "Well Mother, you know, he has a lot to do tonight. But at least we know he's in the neighborhood. You kids had better get to sleep quickly, because he won't stop if you're awake."
You didn't have to tell us twice. From the time the car stopped in the driveway, we were in bed within 30 seconds. In the morning, either my sister or myself would awaken first. We would tip toe down the stairs and take a quick peek at the Christmas tree. That moment, when you saw the gifts under the tree, was breathtaking. All the anticipation, the suspense, the excitement leading up to Christmas Day came to a peak at the instant you realized the big guy had indeed been there. It was as if you could see fireworks, hear bells clanging and steam whistles blowing, as you screamed, "Eiiiyaaaaay" and bound back up the stairs, yelling, "He was here, he was here. Mom, Dad, c'mon, get up. Santa was here."
Once the presents were opened, it was time to bask in the warmth of the season. All the pressure was off. Mom and Dad truly loved the gifts you gave them and although you didn't necessarily get everything you wanted, you did get presents. The week between Christmas and New Year's Day was the best week of the year. You spent all day playing with your buds. Evenings were filled with visits to or from family and friends. The season culminated on New Year's Day. Our house seemed to be the gathering place for several relatives and there was always lots of food. We played games, watched football and enjoyed the last party of the season, as well as the first one of the year. On January 2nd, it was all over. We would begin taking decorations down and cleaning up. School would resume in a day or two. But, hey, it wasn't all that depressing. We were actually looking forward to going back to school and besides; it was only 11 months before "The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year" began again.
Those are the memories that evoked the feelings I get each year at this time. And I've wanted my boys to enjoy the season and experience the same feelings that I have. Their holiday experiences have certainly been different than mine, just as mine were different from what my parents' had been. I can only hope that they have come to appreciate the warmth and peace that this time of year brings.
