When we were kids, we always opened gifts at home on Christmas Eve. Then, on Christmas morning the family loaded up and headed to Townley where my grandmother Ferguson lived.
Mama and Papa Ferguson had 13 kids. I’m not sure how many grandkids they had, but if you could get all the family to vote for you, you could win an election in Walker County.
Papa Ferguson died when I was young, and I don’t have any memory of him except the one that lives in faded photographs. My mother had a handkerchief that was in Papa’s pocket when he died. He’d put a nickel and four pennies in one corner, wrapped the handkerchief around the coins and tied a knot in it to keep them secure. I hadn’t thought of that handkerchief for years until this moment.
Mama Ferguson never remarried and lived alone in a house on a hill. It was an old camp house with a front porch so high you’d need a parachute if you jumped off of it.
When you dropped in to visit Mama Ferguson, you’d most often find her sitting in front of her black-and-white TV. Her hearing got bad in the later years, so you could hear that TV when you drove up in her yard. Inside it was so loud the windows rattled.
On Christmas Day we all started arriving just before noon. By lunchtime, the house was buzzing with kids, grandkids, and other kinfolk who came in from all over the county.
Firecrackers were big then; the kids and everybody had a pocketful. I remember spending most of Christmas afternoon dancing and dodging firecrackers.
Mama Ferguson died while I was still in high school, and Christmas Day changed for my mother’s family. We no longer had that anchor, so it seemed each of the 13 families were set adrift to fend for themselves on Christmas Day.
New traditions were born for the Watson family. We still opened our gifts on Christmas Eve, but instead of it just being my immediate family, all of Daddy’s brothers and sisters as well as their kids came to our house to open Christmas presents.
A few years later when my cousin Bruce Levan became a preacher, he used to read the Christmas story from the Bible to everyone gathered at our house. Normally it was so noisy you couldn’t hear yourself think, but when Bruce read the story, you could hear a pin drop. I’ve never heard that story read better. I bet his kids and grandkids love to hear him read that story.
But time marches on, and loved ones die. Each time someone passes, it leaves an empty place in the family, and things naturally change.
Like every family, Jilda and I’ve lost a lot of loved ones through the years, and I’ve noticed these last few years that our Christmases are much simpler and aren’t nearly as noisy as they once were.
These days we spend a lot of time on Christmas Day watching old holiday movies and listening to Christmas music, but we both remember with fondness all those gatherings at Christmas with our loved ones.
Both Jilda and I want to wish you all Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
