How Socks Conquered the Living Room
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My maternal grandmother was from Vick, Louisiana. You don't pass by Vick, you go to Vick. When she was born and up until I was a small child, you could saddle a horse and ride almost thirty miles in any direction before you came to a town. To see her, you would think she was French, but Mawmaw was about 3/4 German.
My maternal grandfather came from Merryville, which is not too far from Deridder. He was of English and French descent. I don't have a clue how they met, unless it was when he was in boot camp after joining the Army in the late 20's.
But meet they did. They married and had six children. One boy, five girls. All the girls were lookers, but in different ways. My mother (oldest) and her youngest sister had black hair, brown eyes and were more buxom than their sisters. The middle girl looked like a brunette model, tall and willowy. The next to youngest was blue-eyed and dishwater blonde, probably weighing 100 pounds, if she was soaking wet and had a roll of pennies in her pocket. The next to oldest girl had curly dark brunette hair and blue eyes.
I wrote all that to underline the fact that those girls were actively courted and all married in their early to mid-twenties. Subsequently, there was a slew of cousins born in the 1950's and on into the early 1960's.
All families have traditions at Christmas. Ours was to gather at Mawmaw's and Pawpaw's for Christmas Eve. We'd park cars all over the front yard, up the driveway and halfway down the street. We'd all drawn names for gifts, so the wrapped presents were placed on top of an all already considerable pile of presents under the tree. An aluminum treee. You know, the kind with the rotating light...Except we had to unplug the light. Too many presents, so only the top half of the tree showed and their wasn't any floor space for the light. Then it was time to go grab a sandwich (we never cooked on Christmas Eve, we'd make sandwiches), try out some of Aunt Kathy's shrimp dip or fight over the last piece of Mawmaw's peanut butter fudge.
About the time everybody was through eating and some of the dishes had been gathered up, it was time to read The Christmas Story out of Luke. Funny, it was always one of my uncles who read it, never one of the aunts. But after it was finished, it was always one of my aunts that would lead the kids in Christmas songs...Everything from Silent Night to Rudolph. About the time we'd sung until we were hoarse, you'd hear a thunping on the roof and then a knock n the front door.
Who was it? Why, Santa Claus, of course! With a small toy for every girl and boy! And one year a pair of black lace panties for my Aunt Jessie, but that's another story...
After Santa, the two youngest aunts would don their Santa hats and pass out the presents. You may get something you like, you may not. One thing you would get, no doubt about it, was a new pair of socks. Mawmaw and Pawpaw always bought everyone a gift. Every. One. There were even a few spares in case somebody unexpected showed up.
Because they weren't people of any great means, the gifts were always socks. Practical, I guess. The living room wasn't that big, and their kids kept begatting kids, and then my generation started getting married and by the time my son was born...Well, geez the socks filled a quarter of the room. Then you added the other presents on top, squeezed 40 people in a room made for six, with another 30 or so peeking in from the bedroom and the hallway...Wrapped socks started proliferating everywhere. If somebody didn't get a pair, we'd start looking under the couch or start picking up toddlers, as some of them looked like they were surrounded by Christmas paper wrapped Tribbles in an old Star Trek show.
Those were good days. Christmas. Family. Eventually, I was the one reading the Christmas Story. I even was Santa Claus for a couple of years.
Tempis fugit. Things change. Families get bigger. Pawpaw and then Mawmaw died. The old house was sold. Eventually it was torn down. We tried to keep things going after Mawmaw died at Mom's brother's home, but it just wasn't the same. Maybe it was the lack of socks, I dunno.
I don't know if I'll make it to Heaven. If I do, I'll have a gold crown, bestowed by Saint Peter. I strongly suspect my second gift might be from Mawmaw.
Wonder what kind of socks they have in Heaven?
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Wonderful story Jolly, but…
To see her, you would think she was French, but Mawmaw was about 3/4 German.
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