Christmas in the Sixties

Christmas day seemed to always land on a Sunday, when I was a miss. Weird, but church is what I always remember every single Christmas We would wake up too early, and get sent rapidly back to bed. Our parents took no nonsense from any of us, their rules in lead. We were told when we could come out, not one minute before. We did not have seventeen presents, or hundreds of them galore. We usually had three or four presents apiece, this was not grandma’s house. The cookies left out for Santa had been nibbled, as if there had been a mouse. We tore open the wrapping and got something we never saw coming. This was before TV showed us what was valuable, or what was slumming. We liked whatever it was, or at least pretended to like it. For to do anything else would have caused a huge parental fit. We thanked our parents, and helped set the breakfast table. We had to call our great aunts Dorothy and Miss Mable. To say thank you for the hand-knitted stuff they sent to us. They loved hearing from us we gave them such a big fuss!