I look back on the Decembers of my childhood with fondness. My parents went above and beyond to make the Christmas experience exceptional. As the fifth of 5, and born when my parents were both ~40, my parents were old hands at the routine by the time I came around.
My mom had this beautifully crafted felt advent calendar. The calendar itself was red, with the Christmas tree covering the top two thirds of the calendar. The bottom third was occupied by three rows of numbers: 1-8, 9-16, and 17-24. Behind each number was a small pouch, pinned shut with a mystery decoration for the tree. Each morning the kids would rotate opening that pouch and pinning the ornament to the tree. I remember standing in front of that calendar for long minutes, counting the total number of days I got to open the pouch throughout the month.
A few days before Christmas, we would drive down from Sacramento to Palo Alto, where our grandparents lived, and spend a day there. They had a small backyard with a croquet set, and an archery set which we could use at the local elementary school down the street. So the days spent there weren't as boring as you might imagine. Even without those distractions, I still looked forward to the visits. My grandmother made truly delicious food. Her specialty were crescent rolls and lightly frosted cinnamon bread. When it was time for dinner, other relatives who lived in the area came over, and I remember several years eating with distant cousins in the living room on a small fold-up card table. It was great.
There were other traditions. On Christmas Eve we moved on down to San Ramon and spent the day at my aunts house, and experience yet more tasty food. We would drive back home that night, making it a bit easier to fall asleep.
I imagine our Christmas mornings were similar to those of many children. We would wake up with anticipation, but then had to sit in our rooms and wait for Dad to 'turn off the alarm'. For years, our Dad had successfully threatened us that on Christmas Eve, he turned on some sort of supped up alarm, in which secret invisible lasers in our main hallway were activated, and would cause a neighborhood panic if they went off.
But one year -- 1984 -- it didn't work. My brothers were convinced that we were getting some wonderful present that was far better than anything we had seen before. So eventually they eased my fears of tripping the invisible alarm, and coaxed me into checking out our loot before my parents woke up.
I was able to make it through the hallway ok, but as I neared the family room, ie the treasure room, I became nervous about the creaking floorboards. My parents room was just down the way from where I stood, and I nearly lost my nerve. But I told myself that I had come this far -- let's finish it. Slowly, and as quietly as I could, I opened the giant twin doors to the family room, and crept inside.
It was still pretty dark, and I didn't dare turn on the light. But I definitely saw something that would interest them. Something pretty rad (as we said then). What I told them was that it was an awesome new TV. It had a big screen, but wasn't giant like normal TVs. But the strange thing about this TV was that there were other things connected to it: two big plastic boxes, and a typewriter.
My older brothers looked at me with a look of gleeful derision. "That's not a TV," they laughed, "that's a Commodore."