I don't have like a lot of supergreat memories of childhood and the holidays, but when I was 13, I was in this rare place of peace where my mother was between husbands.
She was in college. My brother and I were doing well in school, and things were, for once, looking up.
When Christmas break started, she bought a little tree. Think Charlie Brown tree, but maybe with a little more fullness. She brought it home and strung it with lights.
We made little paper ornaments for it. I don't think it would have held anything heavier than that and we had no idea where the ornaments we used to have had ended up in the series of moves and divorces and flights from bad situations.
Once the tree was decorated, it was nice and festive. Mom decided to take it a step further and strung lights over the whole living room. Suddenly we went from festive to magical.
Most of that winter break was spent with the three of us just hanging in the living room with all the lights off except for the holiday ones. We talked more than we had in a long time. Sometimes it was serious, sometimes just goofy stuff.
Mom always referred to the year she was 32 as the year of the Magic Christmas. She said she never remembered being happier. As far as my childhood years are concerned, I agree.
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