Recalling the joy of Christmas morning

When I was growing up, Christmas morning was magical. The joy and excitement of that day was unlike any I have ever known.

Seven kids huddled in a back room of our Seattle home, waiting for our parents to open the door to the living room. Finally, my mom or dad or both would let us rush with shouts and screams into the room.

We were greeted by a sight I can still see, if I close my eyes. Presents stacked high and wide around the Christmas tree. It almost seemed it could not be real.

We were not a family that took turns opening one gift at a time, with everyone watching. This was a frenzied free-for-all of tearing paper, tossing aside bows and ribbons, cries of “Look what I got" and moving on to the next box.

It seemed we opened presents all morning, and, when it was done, each child had their gifts displayed in a spot staked out earlier, and we took turns admiring what one another had received.

I caused my parents a lot of headaches as a boy, from lousy grades to breaking windows, to shooting a friend with my BB gun. I paid the price in lectures and punishments, but they didn't hold back at Christmas.

There was the magic set that left me awed as my older brother showed me some tricks.

There was Strategy Football and Strategy Baseball that my brothers and I would play for hours.

The battles with Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots ended quickly and furiously with a head popping off. We raced and crashed Hot Wheels for days.

We always got a new basketball.

One year, my father bought me and my brothers new bowling balls. Mine was a blue Ebonite.

I tell you this not to boast about my childhood toys, but to boast about my parents. I always thought, in their younger days, they looked like movie stars.

They never had a lot of money, not with a houseful of kids eating every morsel of food they could find and needing new clothes.

My father worked hard. He delivered mail for much of his career and worked as a janitor at night. He once opened his own grocery store. It didn’t work out, I’m told, because he was a soft touch and let too many people buy groceries on credit, and they failed to pay up. He shared his love of photography, books and Notre Dame football with us.

My mother was a woman with a wonderful spirit and a beautiful smile. After raising us, she went to work for the phone company. She loved her independence. I still remember picking her up after work in downtown Seattle and driving her home in my convertible Volkswagen bug, music playing, top down.

My parents had their battles, but they loved each other and were married for 64 years.

There are hundreds of stories I wish I could tell you about my parents, so you could know a little more about them.

But it seems appropriate during this holiday season, to share just one, how they sacrificed so their kids could have a Christmas morning of joy and delight and laughter and smiles.

I didn't realize it then, but I do now.

Each Christmas, and, really, every day, they gave me the greatest gift of all.

Love.