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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The Hush of Christmas Past It came more slowly then. After Thanksgiving the lights and decorations started showing up. The excitement started to build. Santa showed up at the department store, The ads in the newspapers were larger, some even in color. There was talk of “the list”, and “naughty or nice”. It was agonizing – waiting for the night Mom said “OK, let’s go buy the tree”. The trip to the back lot behind the super market, “This one… NO! THIS ONE!” We carried the tree - by any means possible - remembering Mom’s warning: “Remember, you will have to carry that big tree home.” The tree was somehow decorated. Lights, tinsel, bulbs, each one someone’s favorite, ribbons, bows, a picture of the cat. Now the speculation began in earnest. “Whadaya think you’re gonna get?”. “OH, I hope, I hope, I hope”, “But I can’t tell you, it’s a secret.” We knew there would probably be sox, some new PJ’s, mittens – the usual. But there would also be those other nicely wrapped gifts – from Santa. The baseball glove, the skates, the “un-wrapable” scooters, bikes, baseball bats, hockey sticks. These were always brought by Santa Clause. Santa supplied the dreams, Mom and Dad the gifts. We provided the unmistakable sounds of Christmas morning. There would be church and a Christmas dinner, lost amid the joy of dreams. Dreams of snagging that line drive with the new baseball glove, of racing down the hill on the bike, of Bobby Orr like moves with the new skates. The colored lights took their cue from the setting sun as we gathered around the table and savored the sweet, juicy, succulence of Mom’s - never to be equaled – Apple Pie. John G. Lawless 11/22/2014 submitted to HUSH OF CHRISTMAS PAST – Poetry Contest sponsor – Mystic Rose
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