FIRST PERSON
when I was growing up began with the opening of presents left under the tree by Santa Claus. After eating lunch (and probably breaking a few of the new toys), my parents, sister and I drove from Mount Air to our grandparents’ house near Ohio State University.
There, we would have our big family meal, exchange gifts with a wider group of relatives, and talk and play with our cousins. As day turned toward night, I couldn’t wait to become the center of attention. An already-magical day would get only better.
There would be more presents, of course, plus cake and ice cream. Uncle John and I would each lean in over our respective cakes, make wishes and blow out the candles.
I admit to taking a little satisfaction in the sibling-rivalry area. My younger sister, Sue, would complain annually that I was getting more presents than she did that day — and getting presents from people who never bought her birthday presents.I coolly replied that I couldn’t help that Dec. 25 is a more memorable birthday than Sept. 24 and that We invite readers of all ages to submit a personal essay of musings or reflections for First Person. The guidelines:
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it wasn’t my fault that the whole family felt compelled to recognize the Christmas Day birthdays.
My response didn’t really help the situation.
Adding to all the fun was the fact that Uncle John was — Santa Claus. Sue and I would go to Christmas parties at the Elks’ Club and the American Legion post, sit on Santa’s lap, and tell him what we wanted for Christmas. We were amazed at how much Santa Claus knew about our personal lives and were determined to be good since he obviously was watching us
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My sister, two years younger than me, once confided that Santa smelled suspiciously like Uncle John’s Swisher Sweet cigars. (I have never donned the red suit, but I often note that my initials are S.C., the same as Santa Claus’.)
When I was about to turn 5, in 1957, my Christmas birthday led to a TV appearance. Mom had sent in a card to Betty Jones, host of “TV Kindergarten” on WBNSTV (Channel 10). Six other Christmas babies from the
area and I were selected to walk out of a mock-up train engine (the show originally was called “All Aboard”) and have our names read aloud on television by Betty.
How exciting it was to see the TV studio, meet Betty and feel like a celebrity. Three years later, the morning children’s show became “Luci’s Toyshop.”
My grandparents, parents, and aunts and uncles are all now gone. Uncle John was the last of his generation to leave us, in 2007. Until the end, he and I celebrated every Christmas birthday together, enjoying a special bond.
Whenever I’m asked for my birthdate, I get the same reaction: “Oh, a Christmas baby! That must be tough!”Yes, I’ve received a good many one-for-both gifts and cards and was never able to have friends over for a birthday party, but I more than made up for those negatives with the way my family always made me feel special on my holiday birthday.
A person’s birthday, after all, is the most important day of that person’s year.
Merry Christmas to all. And, to my fellow Christmas babies: Happy birthday! Nicole Baart Jennifer Chiaverini
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