Christmas – Saigon Joe

The holiday season holds a special nostalgia for me. The neighborhood kids would build our winter fort.

Back in those days, before aluminum trees and realistic plastic, everyone had real pine trees of various sizes and type. After Christmas, after New Years, around the end of the first week in January, the alley would be filled with discarded trees. This was the time we waited for.

Freddie, Jose, Rich and I would drag tree after tree from the alley into Freddie’s yard because he was the only one whose family had a wooden picnic table. We would then proceed to toss the trees on top of each other, around and over the seats, until the table was hidden by pine branches on the sides and top. We would then go inside through an opening at one end of the table and hold our meetings.

It was neat. The scent of the trees surrounded us in the interior and sheltered us somewhat from any wind (as long as it wasn’t too strong). What was even better, was if it snowed and covered the trees. Then it was more like an igloo and better insulated. Most trees still had some tinsel or a few overlooked ornaments on them and we would re-hang the ornaments on the inside of the fort to give it some décor.

We would play in the yard and under the table until finally, after about another week or so, the place was littered with pine needles and Freddie’s parents informed us to remove the trees. With all the needles laying around, Freddie had the only green yard on the block!

The removal and relocation of the trees took place the day before the garbage truck came. We carted the trees and placed them along back fences in the alley, not certain which tree belonged where. Apparently it didn’t matter because no one on the street ever complained about our activities.

I don’t see things like that nowadays. Sometimes a beat up aluminum tree is placed in our alley and that’s about it. My childhood memories of the Christmas holidays are no longer seen. Like certain streets where the neighbors each year had the same decorations and dad would take us kids in the car (or we would sometimes walk if the weather permitted, to see Candy Cane Lane, or Santa Claus Street or Reindeer avenue. It was a community street decoration project and, as people moved or died off, there were less and less Santas and candy canes.

But the pine tree fort will always hold a special place in my memories, especially the scent of 10 to 15 trees surrounding a weather warped old picnic table in my playmate’s yard as we sat inside pretending we were wilderness explorers.

And, of course, Freddie’s green yard.

There were many a memorable Christmas, for good or for bad, but a few stand out as exceptional.

One year, I desperately wanted a real guitar. I wanted to learn how to play and be a rock and roll star at 12 years of age. My younger sister preferred to be more frugal in her desires and fell in love with a stuffed hippo doll named Hilda. We both looked forward to Christmas in the hopes or receiving these two sought after items.

Unbeknownst to my sister, I learned the folks managed to get her Hilda and hid it up in the top shelf of the closet. She definitely would be surprised on Christmas morn as I still hoped to be. I was a bit concerned because snooping around the house, I found no evidence of a hidden guitar.

The folks were already up as I stirred from my bed Christmas morning. “Santa’s been here!” they exclaimed. “I’ll be right there,” I said as I rolled out of bed and onto the floor to find my slippers. My folks in the other room gasped as I looked under the bed and instead of my slippers saw a large wrapped box. They were hiding it until the end of the gift unwrapping frenzy soon to take place. “That kid never looked under his bed!” my father grumbled.

There was a look of disappointment on their faces as I put on my slippers and walked into the living room adjacent to my bedroom. But within a few moments I had actually forgotten about the box under the bed as the family gathered by the tree and presents were meted out to each of us.

There were toys and clothes galore and soon the dust (or should I say Christmas wrap) had settled as we kids sat among our new additions to the toy box. My father then said, “Aren’t you gonna get your gift from under the bed?” My face lit up and I hurried to the bedroom stating, “I forgot about that!” I pulled out the box, brought it into the living room and proceeded to unwrap my very own Sears six string acoustic guitar. I was very happy.

Over in the corner sat my sister who was not happy at all. She looked forlorn and mom asked her what what wrong. “I didn’t get my Hilda!” she said woefully. I looked at my parents and they looked at each other. They had forgotten to remove Hilda from the closet!

Dad got up and went into the girls room and emerged with a brown bag. “I am sorry,” he told my sister, “we totally forgot about this present.” He handed the bag to my sister who reached in and pulled out Hilda the Hippo in her little tutu. Her sorrow turned to joy as she spent the rest of the morning talking and playing with her new found and much anticipated buddy.

I enjoyed my guitar for years. Actually took lessons for a while until I began to self teach myself the music I wanted to play. After all, most rock and roll was three, maybe four chords at the most, and I wound up playing rhythm rather than notes.

My sister kept Hilda 60 years. It had, no doubt, special meaning to her as I was surprised in a nostalgic and warm way, that Hilda was there in her house until the day my sister died.

Perhaps my little sister will be happier in Eternity with her life long companion Hilda in her arm.