growing up – A Tyler Tale

Growing up, Christmas day was quite a production. We had our own cozy morning with “just us.” (See previous post part one.)

Then around noon or so, we would head out for a day full of extended family. Showered and dressed for the festivities, but not too fancy, I would look forward to crawling around the floor of my grandma’s house with my cousins as part of the wolf pack. But before the wolf pack adventures, we would stop at my grandparents house in Jackson, NJ.

My grandparents house was not ordinary. According to Zillow, it was built in 1916. It was formerly a cranberry farm and the cranberry house is technically still standing, although it’s glory days are past. They used to use it as a farm when they were raising my mom, aunts and uncles. They had at least one cow and chickens. I would have to find out if there were more animals. They grew vegetables and fruit and sold it at little farm market in front of their house. My mom remembers a gentleman driving all the way from New York for tomatoes from my grandparents farm.

It is still a beauty to be seen as a relic of history and seasons. The chicken coop turned club house and the barn turned storage, my cousins and I had adventures in the six acre wood behind the farming area. We would tuck in our socks and follow our own path to our secret spot. One of us found a circle of trees that fit the five of us perfectly. We roped it off with twine and sticks, added a old little cabinet to hide our treasures and secrets. We swore an oath (not blood though) that no one could know about our spot. We giggled in delight at our secret hideout. It was dubbed, “The Sanctuary.”

My grandparents had five children and their spouses, significant others, and offspring could not all congregate in the same room at the same time. Because the house was compact enough, the many rooms still did not feel too separate from each other. The cousins could gathered around the kitchen table, play room, or upstairs in “the girls’ room” and still hear the conversation of the parents in the living room at the center of the farmhouse.

Back at Grandma and Pop-Pop’s, we opened presents without fuss or presentation. We younger cousins would exchange amongst ourselves (when we hit puberty and started to get allowance) just because we liked each other. These would be given semi-discreetly because we didn’t get gifts for all the cousins. Grandparent gifts were given and opened in front of our grandparents when deemed the right time- usually close to leaving time.

After lunch, giggles, and gifts in Jackson, we would get back into the car with some new goodies. We could get onto 195 and be at Grandma’s in 15 minutes. When we were close to getting off the highway, I would lean with my forehead pressed to the window to see her house from the exit ramp. I thought it was the neatest thing.

Again, I will have to continue another time. This is too long for one blog post.

Ever since I graduated from college, Christmases have changed. At this point, it’s kind of interesting to try to figure out what’s going to happen this years.

For the longest time, my Christmases went like this: Christmas Eve was a delicious dinner of Boston Market with all the fixings followed by a late night church service. We would get all dressed up in reds, golds, and greens.

One of the years my dad was on the worship team, the worship team sang the Christmas songs with their family members gathered behind them. I remember singing on stage with other kids and other adults while the regular team members played as usual or sang into the mics. No rehearsals, just singing the carols that night. It’s one of those memories that’s fuzzy but very warm to my heart.

Then after the Christmas Eve service, we would come back home, light these fragile angel chimes carousel. It was the neatest thing to see the heat from the candles turn the angels round and round. I could watch it all night. My mom would put out cookie tin and various little desserts. My dad worked in a school plus was a part-time pastor. People liked to give him and his family gifts. As a kid, I looked forward to seeing what new sugar infused gift he would come home with next. Those were a fun surprise because you wanted to know what he would come home with on the last day before the Christmas break. It made Christmas Eve all the more exciting with new desserts on our dining table.

On Christmas Eve, we would open one gift, which was most likely Christmas pajamas or something similarly cozy to use that night. It was a cozy evening that usually went late and then we would head off to bed to wake in the morning.

Now, contrary to most Americans, I did not grow up believing in Santa Claus. For a little bit, one of my cousins talked me into believing that he only came to houses that had fireplaces. She was older, cooler, and clearly wiser than me, so I believed her… or at least nodded along until we left her fire-place house. But oddly enough, it didn’t really stick and I kind of forgot about it. However, contrary to popular belief that Santa adds “magic” to your childhood, I still feel like I had a magical childhood.

The Christmas mornings before I was seven have a sparkly and yet fuzzy magic to them. We still lived at the Ronald Road ranch and I remember walking out to presents spread out under the glowing tree. One year we each got a leopard stuffed animal. My little sister and I got the baby leopards and my older sister got the beautiful mama leopard. I might have been jealous at the time, but I don’t think so now. I loved my little leopard.

The oldest and fuzziest Christmas morning memory is one where it’s still dark outside. It was hard to even see the tree except for the colorful lights on it. I would have to ask my mom to verify this, but I remember each of us had a small stuffed animal that was not wrapped on top of the presents. I think they were little grey bunnies that had “water” in them so they seemed “real,” according to the marketing team. Either way, I loved mine until the soft fur felt more like steel wool.

After the presents were opened in the morning, we would have a scrumpious breakfast of varying sorts. Those teacher/pastor gifts my dad received would come in handy on Christmas morning as well. We had assorted sausage, or cheese, or jam gift boxes that added to the morning festiveness. It was quite nice.

Around noon or so, we would head out for a day full of extended family. Showered and dressed for the festivities, but not too fancy, I would look forward to crawling around the floor of my grandma’s house with my cousins as part of the wolf pack. But before the wolf pack adventures, we would stop at my grandparents farmhouse in Jackson, NJ.

I will have to continue another time. This is too long for one blog post.

Tag: growing up

Growing Up Schroepfer: Part 2

Growing Up Schroepfer: Part 1