Dec. 25, 2023

Growing up, it seemed all the problems of the family melted away at Christmas.

We baked cookies together and I recall sifting flour to get it the proper consistency, hand-rolling dough and dropping it on the cookie sheets then icing them once they had baked and cooled.

We made sugar cookies that required rolling the dough very thin, then choosing a cookie cutter such as a Christmas tree or snowman or Santa shape, pressing them into the dough and careful placing them on the cookie sheet.

Mom also had a cookie press that was a tin cylinder with a large handle on one end and a small opening at the other. We’d fill the cylinder with dough and screw the handle to press the dough through the opening, where we had inserted a special shape.

It would extrude stars, snowflakes, reindeer, snowmen. Very much like Play-Doh extruders. 

Our cookie decorations varied from dipping in icing we made with powdered sugar and milk to adoring them with “red hots” (spicy candy buttons) and sprinkles.

The only time we got store-bought Christmas cookies is when Uncle Henry (Dad’s oldest brother) brought a big tin of butter cookies from the bank. He was a vice president at First National Bank in Kansas City, Mo. He and his wife, Margaret, never had kids so he showered his four nephews (my brothers and I) with gifts. And he bought Dad expensive cigars.

Anyway, our Christmas festivities included decorating the house. We’d buy a tree from a lot downtown, string big bulbs around it, hang (and drop and break) glass bulbs on it, drape strings of glass beads around it and cover it with tinsel.

The large windowsill in our dining room, or the top of our upright piano would become the Nativity scene. We had a large manger with a variety of animal statues including donkeys, sheep, horses and camels. 

They stood in stalls around kneeling Joseph, the “Blessed Virgin Mary” and, in the wooden crib with hay, Baby Jesus.

On the peak of the manger roof, we hung the archangel, wings outstretched. We put cotton “snow” around on the ground and roof of the manger and string lights.

It was very elaborate with each of the Three Kings and even a small army of small candles that looked like choir angels (I still have a few) all singing praises.

We’d also pop a big tub of popcorn then get out needles and thread to sew the kernals together in long popcorn garlands. We’d take them outside and hang them on the trees in our yards for the birds.

The four boys made Christmas cards for Mom and Dad, Aunt Molly (who never married, never learned to drive and lived in the Vogrin family home her entire life and served as a grandmotherly figure for my brothers and me.)

We’d get dozens of Christmas cards and we’d tape them to the front door, the frame and even the walls of the living room!

We had no fireplace so Dad bought a cardboard “fireplace” painted to resemble the real thing. It had fake logs and there was a light stand we put behind the logs that had a small fan that blew a piece of red plastic upwards to resemble a roaring fire!

We hung our stockings from the cardboard mantel (my stocking hangs today from our authentic mantel).

Writing letters to Santa was a big deal. Mom got out the Sears catalog and we’d grab the advertising inserts from the Kansas City Star and we’d write our wish lists.

Erector sets, Lincoln logs, wooden blocks, cowboy hats and guns, Army rifles, Tonka trucks, Legos (not the elaborate sets they sell today; just Lego blocks), coloring books, puzzles and more.

Aunt Molly’s gifts were usually cash and we loved getting a couple bucks in a card to spend later when we’d spend a Friday night at her house, take the bus downtown on Saturday and go to Grant’s department store to spend it on something foolish.

We especially liked Grant’s because it had a long lunch counter where we’d sit on stools and order cheeseburgers with rootbeer floats. (Aunt Molly always spoiled us.) 

Behind the counter, against the wall, ran a long conveyor belt where the waitresses would load dirty dishes to send them back to the kitchen. 

That same belt also was used to send food out from the kitchen. The waitress would grab your plates and deliver them to you. You’d watch and try to guess which cheeseburger was destined to you and be disappointed when it was delivered to some kids sitting on stools just down the counter from you.

Anyway, the Catholic church played a huge role in our Christmas celebration, as you might guess. There was always a Christmas play at St. Peter’s School and a festive Christmas party at St. Anthony’s Church, where my Dad was raised. 

St. Anthony’s was a lot more fun, in my mind, than the stuffy St. Peter’s Cathedral we attended as our neighborhood parish. That’s largely because my Dad grew up there, seemed to know everyone and had run the basement social club for years.

My fondest memories of Christmas, and, frankly, of my childhood, were the parties my folks would throw on Christmas Eve. Many relatives would come over including Aunt Molly (of course), Uncle Henry and Aunt Margaret, Aunt Emma and Uncle Tom, Aunt Babe, Uncle Bob and Aunt Joann. Henry, Emma, Babe and Bob were all my Dad’s siblings.

Emma was a skilled pianist (she played organ every Sunday at St. Anthony’s for decades) and they’d start out singing Christmas carols.

Then, as the adults got drunk, they’d start singing songs from the Old Country. They’d all be smoking and drinking and laughing.

Around bedtime, there’d be a knock on the door and, lo and behold, Santa would walk in! 

He had a string of sleigh bells and he’d sit with each of us boys, ask if we’d been naughty or nice and tell us to mind our parents. 

He deflected questions about landing when there was no snow or entering the house when all we had was our cardboard fireplace.

Then he’d sneak in the kitchen with Dad and have a shot of Scotch and leave shouting: “Ho! Ho! Ho!

When we were older and no longer believed in Santa, the family would go to midnight Mass. And that’s when we got some real Christmas magic.

While we were at Mass, Santa came to our home. We’d open the door around 1 a.m. and come in to find presents lined up under the tree with each boy’s stocking stuffed with candy and small toys.

It took years to figure out how the folks did it. Of course, they were in church with us the whole time. Aunt Molly didn’t drive and couldn’t possibly had delivered all the gifts.

Eventually, we discovered that our next-door neighbor, Ruth Becker, was our Secret Santa. Ruth lived alone and worked for the Kansas City, Kan., Police Department as its first female detective. She let the folks store our gifts in her basement. When we left for midnight Mass, Ruth came over with the gifts.

You can only imagine the mayhem at 1 a.m. when four hyper-active boys started stuffing their faces with Hershey kisses, M&Ms and Tootsie rolls and ripping open gifts.

These are cherished memories.

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