A Christmastime memory
Once upon a time, a long time ago, long before VCR's were invented, even before television sets were found in every home (it may have been invented, but wasn't commercially available), my father devised his own family entertainment. He owned both eight and 16 millimeter movie projectors. From time to time he would rent a newsreel and a bunch of cartoons, and set up a theater in our basement. He set the silvered screen in the front, and pulled it up like a windowshade, hooking it at the top of the extended pole for that purpose. The folding chairs were set in rows, and corn was popped in the kitchen upstairs, in a pot with a rotating lever in the cover that stirred the corn to keep it from burning. The neighbors, especially the kids, poured in and took their places, the lights were extinguished, and the whirring of the projector began.
At Christmastime, the featured movie was a black and white enactment, before computerized animation (for that matter before most of us had ever heard of computers) of " 'Twas the night before Christmas." We delighted in the poetry, and in seeing the sugar plums dancing in their heads, and the jolly old Santa with his reindeer on the roof. The movie was played over and over, and every year, and before long I could recite the poem from memory, like a chorus with the narrator of the movie.
So, even though this Jewish family didn't officially celebrate Christmas, we soaked in the holiday atmosphere. Maybe it didn't start as early as the day after Halloween, but Christmas was everywhere in the stores and on the air waves. A favorite of the season was the serial story, "The Cinnamon Bear," broadcast for 15 minutes every day, around 5p.m. And Santa didn't pass over our house. We didn't have a fireplace, so my sister and I hung our stockings (the longest ones we could find) from the doors of the "entertainment center," a Stromberg-Carlson console with an am-fm radio and a phonograph inside. We would hang the stocking over the dark wood door and then close it, so that it fit snuggly but was still open waiting for the treats. We would wake up on Christmas morning with oranges and various kinds of candy bulging in the fabric, and toys piled on the floor. I never wondered how Santa got in, even without a chimney to slide down.
Our extended family had our own tradition for celebrating Chanukah. All the aunts, uncles, and cousins would gather at one of our houses, rotating each year, along with Grandpa Jacob and Grandma Sarah. At the appropriate time, all the cousins would gather eagerly in a large space in front of Grandpa and he would throw a handful of coins, nickels, dimes and quarters, into the air. Then all of us cousins would scramble for them as they fell to the ground and rolled to the corners. Grandpa repeated this several times, until his rolls of coins were gone. Because my sister and I were the two smallest, and easily pushed out of the way by our eager older cousins, he would slip us a little extra to make up for our losses. Then we would all adjourn to the dining room for potato latkes, topped with applesauce or sugar.
At Christmastime, the featured movie was a black and white enactment, before computerized animation (for that matter before most of us had ever heard of computers) of " 'Twas the night before Christmas." We delighted in the poetry, and in seeing the sugar plums dancing in their heads, and the jolly old Santa with his reindeer on the roof. The movie was played over and over, and every year, and before long I could recite the poem from memory, like a chorus with the narrator of the movie.
So, even though this Jewish family didn't officially celebrate Christmas, we soaked in the holiday atmosphere. Maybe it didn't start as early as the day after Halloween, but Christmas was everywhere in the stores and on the air waves. A favorite of the season was the serial story, "The Cinnamon Bear," broadcast for 15 minutes every day, around 5p.m. And Santa didn't pass over our house. We didn't have a fireplace, so my sister and I hung our stockings (the longest ones we could find) from the doors of the "entertainment center," a Stromberg-Carlson console with an am-fm radio and a phonograph inside. We would hang the stocking over the dark wood door and then close it, so that it fit snuggly but was still open waiting for the treats. We would wake up on Christmas morning with oranges and various kinds of candy bulging in the fabric, and toys piled on the floor. I never wondered how Santa got in, even without a chimney to slide down.
Our extended family had our own tradition for celebrating Chanukah. All the aunts, uncles, and cousins would gather at one of our houses, rotating each year, along with Grandpa Jacob and Grandma Sarah. At the appropriate time, all the cousins would gather eagerly in a large space in front of Grandpa and he would throw a handful of coins, nickels, dimes and quarters, into the air. Then all of us cousins would scramble for them as they fell to the ground and rolled to the corners. Grandpa repeated this several times, until his rolls of coins were gone. Because my sister and I were the two smallest, and easily pushed out of the way by our eager older cousins, he would slip us a little extra to make up for our losses. Then we would all adjourn to the dining room for potato latkes, topped with applesauce or sugar.
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