It's almost Christmas where I live but on Deanes Island, the seasons don't change much. Maybe I should do something about that. When I was young, Christmas was probably the most important holiday we had. We had a black-and-white TV which showed us nothing but black and white commercials. We had to use our imaginations for the rest. We didn't mind, though, because we also received a Sears and Roebuck catalogue every fall which was filled with loads of colored photographs. My mother would allow us to look through it and mark what we would like for Christmas. Of course we were old enough to know we wouldn't receive everything we marked. I think this was her way of asking us without having us write a letter to Santa. She assured us that Santa would know what we wanted. In kid fashion, we believed everything about Santa was magical and he would see what we had marked.
Sometimes, on a Saturday afternoon, when my father wasn't working, he and my mother would take us to a nearby general store where toys were sold. Once there, we would walk slowly through the toy section and point to toys we would like to have. I especially remember a trip where we saw life-like baby dolls, very popular at the time, which were dressed in baby clothes and smelled like baby powder. My two younger sisters and I were enthralled, and naturally, we all wanted one of those baby dolls for Christmas. Sure enough, Santa delivered and we each had a doll of our own. I have a picture of the occasion.
As you can see we were very happy. I'm the one on the left, next to our younger brother who received a dump truck. Poor thing. Although, he looks happy, too.
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