By SUSAN PHARE

BOBACK

Special to the Journal

My childhood Christmases were spent with both sets of grandparents – maternal on Christmas Eve, and paternal on Christmas Day or soon after. How fortunate we were to have both sets of grandparents in our home town, Ishpeming. We had my mother’s parents to ourselves as kids, as we were the only grandchildren who lived here. All the rest of our cousins, aunts and uncles on that side of the family got to enjoy Gram and Grandpa coming to visit and staying overnight during the year. On my dad’s side of the family, only a few of our cousins lived out of the area, so we were (and still are) blessed with lots of cousins and family around.

On Christmas Eve, my family went to church, which was packed to the rafters. Rows of chairs were set up in the back to seat the latecomers; my father (janitor of the church) was up in the belfy, ringing the bell. The Christmas gospel, Junior and Senior choir music and each of us getting our own candle when singing Silent Night, parts of the annual Christmas worship that were meaningful. Kids were gifted an apple, an orange, candy cane and a box of the raspberry filled hard candies and ribbon candies. We looked forward to those treats each year.

Then Dad would drive us over to our maternal grandparent’s house while we sang, “Over the River and Through the Woods,” (no river). Other years our grandparents & family would come to our house We ate French-Canadian pork pie, among other foods, which was my paternal grandfather’s heritage. We usually made it through the meal without getting too rambunctious, but could hardly contain our excitement as we waited impatiently for the dishes to be done so we could open our presents. I wonder how many times we asked, “When are we going to open our presents?” or “Are you done yet?” One year Grandpa had all his presents opened before many of us started. I recall how frustrated my gram was that he didn’t keep the tags with his gifts. Grandpa’s plan was to relax in his chair with a cup of coffee, and watch us. He would tease the parents, and say, “are you married?” and laugh, meaning: a full family life with spouse and kids and Christmas chaos. Maybe his smile also meant that before too long the families would be packed up and he could enjoy the peace!

Christmas Day at our house would begin after Santa’s visit in the night, but sleeping well was not really expected. My two sisters and I would practice who would get to go down the hall to the living room first, and who’s room we would meet in when awake. One Christmas morning that I recall vividly, was how we got up in the middle of the night, not realizing it wasn’t morning yet, as it was still dark. My parents must have just gone to bed, and my startled dad came running out of their room and hurried us back to our beds, each with a new doll or toy in our arms.

Our family, and our many cousins, aunts, and uncles on our paternal side would get together at one family’s house on Christmas Day or another day soon after for a meal, games and showing of gifts.

There always was a kid’s dinner table, singing the Wesleyan Grace in 4 part harmony, lots and lots of good food, giggling and family stories. With our grandpa having been a member of the Gwinn Men’s Glee Club years ago, and our uncle being the director of the Negaunee Male Chorus, music was a big part of our family gatherings whether at Christmas or camping or summer picnics. Growing up singing has influenced all our lives. We had good voices and harmonizing was just part of the song. Even today when we gather, though our numbers are fewer, we still harmonize, which reminds us of the voices no longer with us.

It was also a tradition to go to our paternal grandparent’s house for a visit, and see their Christmas tree, where we would find our special Christmas envelope that contained a new, one dollar bill. We never questioned why it was just a dollar. There was never any presents under the tree, that I remember. But there was always a mirror with a magnetic skater and cotton batting for snow. At Christmas, Grandpa would make his annual plum pudding, his family recipe and a part of his English heritage. We hoped to be the lucky one to find a dime in our piece. Grandpa told us the winners were to do the dishes, but our fathers were the chosen dishwashers.

The smells of mincemeat, French pork pie, plum pudding, and saffron bread bring me to a hometown Christmas, Ishpeming, in the late 1950’s – early 1960’s. The holiday lights hung by our City crews and light displays all over town; the Christmas tree by Old Ish, snow on the ground, and a corsage on my coat that bring me back in time. The sounds of the Salvation Army bells ringing in the little house on the corner of Main and Cleveland Avenues, a tenor voice, singing O Holy Night, and the Hallelujah Chorus – that’s the sounds of the season for me.