A “Rich” Tradition
Sunday-best attire was required. With overwhelming anticipation, my sister Sharon and I dressed for what was our favorite destination each holiday season. We would soon be boarding the bus with our mom for a journey to downtown Detroit to see Santa Claus!
Our excitement grew as the bus, loaded with holiday shoppers, arrived at our destination. Upon stepping down from the bus, we rushed to peer into the store windows, which offered a fantasyland that captured the imagination of children and adults alike. The windows set the mood for what was yet to come. After our fill of the sheer artistry of each animated scene, we squeezed through the doors of a large department store amidst hurried shoppers and joined the throng to the wooden escalators for our upward journey. Glorious twinkling, colored lights, decorated trees, hanging angels and a multitude of other holiday adornments decked the walls, the ceilings, the counters…every available space. From the escalator we transferred to an elevator. The uniformed elevator operator pulled first a gate and then golden doors before our ascension to the floor where Santa perched on a throne-like chair in an even-grander fantasyland to greet children and solicit their Christmas requests.
My sister and I always went up to see this great man together. We each took a turn to relay our wishes. Never did we ask for too much. I, however, always asked
for a beautiful doll. My sister never did. But why would she? If past years were any
indication, she didn’t need a “beautiful” doll from Santa. She would get one before Christmas.
Because of our mother’s financial situation—she was divorced and raising us alone—we were eligible for the Christmas party and gifts made possible by a charitable group. For a few years in the late 1940’s, Sharon and I went to the party and were given a brightly wrapped box which contained a doll dressed by a volunteer. Most of the volunteers sewed, knitted or crocheted the doll’s clothing. My sister always got the best-dressed doll; I always got one that was the failing project of a beginner seamstress or knitter. Each year as I was handed the gift-wrapped box, my hopes were high. Each year I dreamed that I would be the one who got the doll that was dressed like a princess with bejeweled garments and a long, flowing and satiny gown. Each year disappointment came as soon as the tissue was lifted and the doll was uncovered. Another poorly dressed doll was in my box. My sister’s box, as usual, contained another winner!
Those “ugly dolls” helped me learn—the hard way—that you don’t always get what you want. Thankfully, I also learned that you do get what you need…for every year there was a beautiful doll—really there were two—under the tree on Christmas morning. One was for me; one, for my sister. I didn’t begrudge my sister her gift of a doll, too. A sensitive, caring person, she always felt bad when I received the charity’s doll and offered to share the beautiful one she received with me.
Memories of Christmases past always turn to the special outings with mom and my sister to downtown Detroit, the tall stores, the wonderful windows and Santa. Not only did we get to see Santa, but mom treated us to a special, big-girl lunch. She always did her best to make her two little girls feel like a million dollars. Her efforts worked. Ugly dolls aside, I always felt truly rich!