ROCKWALL, TX (Dec. 16, 2014) While opening our Christmas envelopes from my grandparents, I noticed Uncle Harry grinning, shifting on the couch. He was up to something—a practical joke that we’d talk about for Christmases to come.
We all have Christmas traditions; things we do, food we eat, places we go to celebrate the Christ child. Ours involves trekking back toTennessee. Often, it’s the only time we see family in the flesh instead of Facebook. After my in-law’s jam-packed Christmas Eve party, we wake to sausage rolls and presents before heading to my side of the family.
At my sister’s, we are met by even more breakfast and kids’ cajoling for presents. The entire family circles up in the biggest room and we go one by one. It must be awful to be a child in this tradition, being forced to wait, but the time allows not only for expressions of gratitude, but some razzing as well. It’s inevitable, somebody will have received something “bigger” or “earlier” when it was more available and, in turn, their actual wrapped gifts lean to the light side.
“Not loved this year, huh, Sis?”
On cue, Debbie fakes a tear while Mom reassures all of her equal love per child.
Nevertheless, the best trick ever played was my uncle’s “switch-a-roo” on my grandparents’ yearly money gift. Pappaw was an old cotton farmer fromMississippiwho eventually owned his own service station. Depression era living taught them to be tighter than a squirrel with the last walnut. A family rumor had circulated for years that thousands were buried somewhere in their backyard and my cousins and I would periodically grab the shovels. Yet, each Christmas their generosity bloomed and Pappaw grinned as Mammaw divvied out the envelopes. Everyone received the same, I think around forty dollars, and we’d all joke, “What’s in here?” when it was our turn to open.
Uncle Harry; however, seemed to giggle a little more than usual. As my sisters opened their money (“Thank you, Pappaw and Mammaw!”), and then my cousins, Harry took his turn. He tore the envelope and pulled out the card and then cheered while lifting a $100 dollar bill. “Wow, Daddy, thanks!” Most of the family just grinned uncomfortably, and stared at one another. Pappaw grew pale, fearing the appearance of playing favorites and the possibility that he had “hundreds” in the rest of the cards. He swung around and stared at Mammaw in disbelief, wondering if she’d overloaded them.
Harry exploded in laughter and we figured out that he had slipped in his own money while nobody noticed. Even now, years after the event, with Mammaw and Pappaw no longer with us, we retell the tale. And for a brief moment, the magic happens, and my grandparents are brought right back into our world. That’s the power of traditions; we relive our past as we move into the future, and as I share this story, I can’t wait to make that journey back and enjoy another year of fun.
By Blue Ribbon News guest columnist Scott Gill of Rockwall, a teacher, coach and author of Goliath Catfish. Follow Scott’s blog at scotttgill.tumblr.com and read all of his “Front Porch Ramblings” at BlueRibbonNews.com.
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