Lists Yule Love: Best Holiday Memories

By WYDaily Staff Saturday, December 25, 2010

There's a rich history here in the Historic Triangle, filled with stories of sacrifice, gentle gestures of goodwill and runaway department store deer. We heard a bunch this season during our Second Annual Holiday Memories Contest. Our readers proved, once again, they are without peer in the creativity department. As with the holiday haiku contest, it was very difficult to choose a winner. In the end, we decided Kathryn Patterson's story that's still being shared 48 years after it happened deserves the prize. Although, we must say there's a holiday prankster family in our midst who came very close to winning it all. Read on, and Happy Holidays to all.

It was December 1962 and Christmas shoppers hustled and bustled their way through Dixie Manor shopping center in Louisville, Kentucky. The big attraction that season was the live reindeer with the department store Santa – maybe not the full squadron of eight tiny reindeer, but two moose-looking deer with broad faces.

Children bundled in parkas with their mittens dangling by strings stood in line to pet the deer and tell Santa their wishes: Chatty Cathy, Etch-a-Sketch, low tech options of a simpler era. Chaos erupted when one of the deer made a break for it! Abruptly trampling down the walls of his small pen, the escapee darted past the crowd, paused briefly at the Dumpster, and continued toward the railroad tracks behind Dixie Manor!

Twelve-year-old David Patterson joined in the chase as he saw the deer bolting straight into the heart of his neighborhood! Pursued by a small contingent of shoppers, “Dasher,” let’s call him, eluded his pursuers for a good half hour. Ultimately, one of Santa’s helpers cornered him by a garage and led him peacefully away with a leash.

In our family, the deer of Dixie Manor remains the most memorable of holiday tales.
-Kathryn Patterson

For her winning effort, Kathryn receives a holiday gift basket from Yankee Candle's Flagship Store in Williamsburg. Maybe this experience will be added on to the story as it is retold another 48 years from now!

And now, the best of the rest. We thank all of you for participating and look forward to next year's holiday memories competition. May you all have the sort of holiday season that bears retelling - for all the right reasons.

A holiday tradition began at our house a few years ago by my prankster husband Mike and continues every year. As soon as our 3-ft tall old-style plastic yard Santa is released from his attic exile, and before we start decorating, my husband begins the Sneaky Santa game. The goal is to place Santa in an unexpected place without getting caught. This year he started by hiding Santa under the bed-covers of my now 19-year-old daughter Gemma.  

She retaliated by moving him to our bed while we were at work. Next, Mike waited until she went to bed and then hid him in her shower (surprise!). Next, she put him in our clothes closet-(he got me at 0-dark in the morning!)

In previous years, Santa was seen in passenger seats ready for his commute to work and is often seen waiting outside bedroom/bathroom doors!

The game ended this year when my husband surreptitiously set a photo of our Santa as her desktop on her computer so she would see it when she logged in. Santa is now comfortable at his holiday post near the Christmas tree.

All this is done without any acknowledgment that it is all going on. I probably shouldn't even be telling this to WYDaily! Sometimes we use our big plastic Frosty just to throw each other off! When we have guests, they are in on it too!
-Peggy Mason

We were young, had just bought a house and decided not to buy for each other at Christmas and just buy for the kids.

The kids were young enough not to really notice that Mom and Dad did not have a gift under the tree.

I had seen a blue suede coat with blue fur around the collar and trim on bottom. I liked it but knew our plan was not to buy.

After Santa’s gifts had been opened, My husband went into the attic and brought down a Woolco bag.

He pulled out that coat and of course I cried a million tears.

Nothing ever comes close to the gift of that blue coat.
-Donna Martin

December, 1995, commanding a wing in the Air Force, I had to deploy a squadron to Germany to fly resupply missions into Bosnia. This same squadron had been deployed to the desert the previous Christmas. However, they had to go, because they were the only squadron I had with missile warning gear, and the threat potential warranted it.

I told my family that I was going over to fly with them Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, departing December 22. Christmas dinner was cold turkey sandwiches over the Alps. Beautiful, but family was fellow aircrew that day. We made a steep approach in complete overcast in the mountains into Tuzla, experienced spurious missile warnings from static in the atmosphere, and completed an engine running offload for minimum ground time. Returning to my family on December 26, I marveled at the calm, dedicated young aircrews, away from their families again, handling tough flying conditions as routine.
-An Air Force Retiree

The thing I want most for Christmas is world peace. Well, maybe not world peace, but just peace at my grandmother’s house. Every year, nine, soon to be ten, kids gather for the holiday at my grandmother’s (Oma) house. It is so chaotic. There are little kids everywhere. My grandpa (Pop-pop) forces us to get to church a whole hour before it even starts. I can tell you, keeping nine kids happy before and during church is no picnic. He loves to go shopping to. I think he goes shopping just to get out of the house. The thing that is really bad though, is I am always the one who baby-sits all the kids. The kids are always the sick ones too, so I hope that I do not get sick.

Green and red are good Christmas colors. I like wearing  green. Especially booger green. You know, just so the boogers don’t show. Only at Oma’s house though. Do you know why? Because the kids always have a runny nose, and I am the one always wiping noses and picking up sick kids. The kids may always be sick, but they still are full of energy. They run around screaming, yelling, shouting, crying, and most of all, coughing. I am the oldest, than there is my sister who is seven, and then the rest are four and under. That is really bad, because almost half of them do not know that they need to cover their mouth when they cough. My family and I are always going around the house wiping and disinfecting every little space.

I think that the present I want and need for Christmas, is peace and quiet this year. I will be confined in the basement with the kids all holiday, so they do not break any of the things that are upstairs. So hopefully I will not get sick and have to spend the holiday in bed. Please, any one, tell me that this will be a better Christmas than the last. PLEASE?
-Madeline Walters

In August of 1986, my best friend and I left Williamsburg behind and moved to Atlanta. We found an apartment, Sherri started school, and I got a job. We quickly fell in love with being young in the big city, though occasionally we did get a little homesick. When December rolled around, Sherri - being a student - had a two week break, and so made plans to fly back to the 'Burg for Christmas. I, on the other hand, was working in retail. My schedule consisted of working pretty much nonstop until 6 p.m. Christmas Eve, and being there by 6 a.m. on December 26th. There would be no trip home for me, and with Sherri gone, I would be alone on Christmas day.

Now, for someone used to a calm and peaceful Christmas, this might not be too bad. But for me, this was going to be unlike any holiday I had ever had. You see, I am one of eight children. Christmases at my house were loud, boisterous, joyful affairs. There were years when we couldn't even get into the living room because of all the presents, so we would sit on the stairs and Mom would throw them up to us. So, a quiet day, in a two-bedroom apartment, six hundred miles from home, without turkey!, was not something I was looking forward to.

On the afternoon of December 11th, I was home when the mailman delivered a package from my mother. I opened the brown paper to find a wrapped present inside - bow and all. I was impressed she had mailed it so early, and stuck it under the small tree I had put up.

When I arrived home from work on December 12th, there was a yellow note on the door-- "Sorry we missed you, please come to the post office to pick up a package." The following morning, as soon as the doors were opened, I was there. I handed over my ticket, and was given another box from my Mom. I took it home and placed it under my tree, wondering about our postal service, and why two packages mailed at the same time would arrive on different days.

That afternoon, December 13th, I arrived home and found another note! Now, I was beginning to realize something other than poor postal service was happening. On the 15th, I was home when another package came, and on the 16th, another note on my door. Every day (except Sunday), for the two weeks leading up to Christmas, I received either a package, or a post office receipt. On Mondays, I got two!

On Christmas morning, even though I was alone, I still woke up early. I sat on the floor beside my small tree and opened 14 gifts from my mother.I thought about her taking the time to shop for them, and wrap them, and make the trip to the post office everyday to mail them.I wished for a way to let her know how much these packages meant to me. I wondered if it was too early to call. It was the worst Christmas I have ever had, but it was also the best.
-Jennie Little

Growing up in a brownstone in Brooklyn New York is filled with lots of “Holiday Memories”. Our house had an open door and when you walked in a warmth of holiday cheer for all. My grandma was Italian so our kitchen table was covered with homemade pasta, cookies, breads & yes lots of fish (an Italian tradition). We had a large table where everyone gathered around telling tales of St. Nicholas & eating grandma’s yummy treats. We were so thankful being together once again.

As the years went by and we grew up & had families of our own. My dad dressed in a ”red” suit ringing Christmas bells & gave gifts to all who came through the open door on Christmas Eve. This tradition lasted until my dad passed away from heart problems in 2007.

My children have  memories of my dad (Papa), Christmas in Brooklyn & our memories in Virginia. We have our own Christmas each year before we travel to New York. We wake up sooo early to open gifts, we eat sweet rolls and enjoy a relaxing morning just being together.

May the coming year bring PEACE....
-Terri Barden

Christmas 2009 was a special time. Unfortunately all my children had the obligation to visit with other relatives. That misfortune regains itself with other visitors.

Having a bed and breakfast brought a nice group of guests. The group that arrived has a similar situation. One of the guests played the organ, which fit in with the 1887 pump organ we had. Another guest was an accomplished violinist with a wife who sang in the choir. They all volunteered to do a recital Christmas eve. It is still a time to remember.
-Ike Sisane

"Tangerines and St. Patrick's, from one extreme to another, remain warm memories fixed in my wonderful personal memory bank.  The widde things have continued on with this earlier impressionable "boy" and are remembered from my simple country neighborhood continue to this day and firmly remain in my memory bank, to keep me focused.

He lived down the road and worked all of his adult life at a funiture factory.  Each Christmas Eve, Arnold would walk to our small, toasty warm home, no matter the weather, knock on our door, smiling, bringing a simply wrapped package in his hand....always fresh tangerines...a tradition every year!  And every year, now, this guy browses in a local market, searching for just the right handful of fresh tangerines to traditionally savor, slowly, during my Christmas holidays.

As an "adult", an adventure one Christmas season took me to my fave destination---New York City. And I seemed to be drawn, for the first time, to the huge, magnificient St. Patrick's Cathedral.

The evening was quiet, with people lighting candles in the back alcove and others sitting reverently along the nave's massive rows of pews that seemed to dwarfed their very presence. An elderly woman, with '40s clothing, struggled down the wide middle aisle, holding the hand of a small girl. The stooped woman durifully genuflected before moving into her chosen pew. At that moment, the little girl reached up and gently tugged on her companion's shaw. Right there, at that very moment in time, the precious little girl struggled up to share a...a warm hug...in front of the world and....."
-Ron Steffey