Jennifer McCalla in front of her family Christmas tree in Duquesne in 1980.

Photograph courtesy of Jennifer McCalla

Eyes wide open and giddy with anticipation of Santa’s arrival, I couldn’t fall asleep. Outside, snow steadily fell in the darkness, and as the screens on my bedroom windows rattled from rustling wind, I heard a loud bang. The sound seemed to come from the roof outside my window. As I jumped from bed and ran to look, a swirl of glistening snow billowed upwards into the sky as if a sleigh had just taken off from my roof. I was beyond thrilled. Santa, I was convinced, had come to our house in Duquesne.

I remember being too excited and nervous to immediately go downstairs and look, and don’t recall if I ever fell asleep. But decades later, I can see that magic moment in my mind and will aways remember the joy it gave me. It is one of many fond childhood memories of the Christmas mornings my parents made so special. On Christmas eve, I would put on my favorite silky blueish-green pajamas that were probably purchased from the Kmart or Hills department stores near Kennywood Park. They were so soothing and comfortable to wear.

A little after 4 a.m., my younger brother Paul and I would excitedly wake up our parents, not knowing how late they must have stayed up to prepare for Santa. They groggily informed us to go back to sleep for at least a few more hours. When it was time to rush downstairs to see what Santa had brought us, the Christmas tree lights were always on and carefully wrapped presents were waiting. One of us would run our Lionel trains that encircled the tree. If it was my brother, he was likely crashing them. We would endlessly couple and uncouple the freight cars. Loading and emptying the log cars with various found objects was great fun, until we got into trouble.

My father skillfully built the train set on a large platform which surrounded the tree and Nativity scene. He carefully poured green powdered grass and brown gravel for the lawns and dirt roads. Miniature people, cars, crosswalks and practically every animal known to man completed the scene.  It was all perfect in my eyes, just as spectacular as the miniature railroad display at the Carnegie Science Center in Pittsburgh.

McCalla’s brother, Paul Obrosky, admires the miniature train set built by their father at their childhood home in Duquesne.

Photograph courtesy of Jennifer McCalla

Some gifts provided dual entertainment possibilities. One year, my brother’s bright red Hot Wheels race tracks gave us endless hours of fun. We launched the cars side by side and raced each other down the track and through a gravity-defying, upside-down loop. Eventually, one of us would quit a sore loser.

Then the tracks became whips that we would take apart and use as weapons to chase each other around the house. There was satisfaction in swinging hard and hearing the loud thwack on the skin when you landed a good hit.

Being the oldest grandchild had its disadvantages on Christmas eve, when we visited my Oma and Opa’s house in Aliquippa. Tradition held that the youngest grandchild opened gifts first. It felt like hours would go by before my turn came. And as the years went by and the number of grandchildren, aunts, uncles, and cousins grew, the wait time only got longer. It seemed so unfair then. I still struggle with patience to this day.

Oma always cooked a feast big enough to serve an army. My favorite part was the vast amount of cookies and baked goods Oma made, starting weeks in advance - pizzelles covered with powdered sugar, mini cheesecakes in shiny silver cupcake liners, and thick and yummy chocolate chip cookies.

We loved to visit my father’s parents, Gram and Pap Pap, in Duquesne. Pap Pap decorated the living and dining rooms with swoops of tinsel and colorful holiday balls hung from the suspended ceiling. We were entranced by a bubble light fence that Pap Pap placed on either side of the Christmas tree, framing it. The base of the bubble light would warm the liquid, and the liquid would bubble once hot enough. Sometimes we would stare at them hypnotized wishing for them to bubble, and there would occasionally be a loud pop when the bubbling started! My brother and I would pick sides in the hopes that our side would win. First side to have all the lights bubbling would win!

Dinner was served on folding TV trays at Gram and Pap Pap’s house. I would always consume nearly an entire jar of green olives, and entertain the family with my oddball habit of sticking an olive onto each fingertip. After my Pap Pap passed and it was just my Gram, we went to my Aunt Janice’s home for Christmas eve.  Gram would get a little tipsy on Kahlúa and cream and reminisce about her childhood and toys and things her father gave her for Christmas. Our sides would ache with laughter when Gram recited nursery rhymes and sang songs from her childhood. Teddy Bear, the jump rope rhyme was one of her favorites.

Now that I’m a parent, the excitement and anticipation of Christmas has taken on a new meaning. To see your own child preparing treats for Santa is the sweetest thing. My daughter Ashley also insisted on a carrot for each reindeer. Sometimes, she gave Santa regular milk, other times it was almond. He didn’t seem to be picky. On Christmas mornings my daughter would rather have us open our gifts from her first. She has either carefully made, or purchased something that she impatiently can’t wait to give us.

More importantly, I was proud to see my daughter learn it is just as important to give gifts as receive them. I cherish the funny children’s books she gave me. We always enjoy reading them together. In some ways, we never grow up.

– Jennifer McCalla