Woe, Woe, Woe, Merry Christmas

It was only much later, when I was an adult with a family of my own, that it dawned on me -- dusked on me, I guess I should say -- that my memory's illumination was hardly metaphysical, or even sentimental. It was simply the accurate recall of my father's blaring movie light, pointed straight into my face to make his Super-8 exposure come out right.

Fond childhood memories often pale with the advent of full adult awareness. My fondest Advent recollections have darkened instead.

-- Blake Gopnik

He Gave Her an Iron;

She Took Her Leave

I don't remember what Santa brought me on Dec. 25, 1980, but I've never forgotten what my father gave my mother for Christmas that year -- an iron. Even now, I can see the look on her face when she unwrapped it: bewilderment, followed by hurt and disappointment.

That day began as Christmases had for as long as I could remember in my 10 years -- my 4-year-old brother and I ripped into our gifts; my dad made a fire in the fireplace and let us throw wrapping paper in it, even though my mother always said not to do that; I helped my mother get ready for the onslaught of aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents invited for Christmas dinner.

But later that night my mother sent me to get a change of clothes for my brother and me, and told me to grab one thing from under the Christmas tree because we were spending the night at my grandma's house. My mother, brother and I wouldn't return to live in our house for another two years and we would never spend Christmas with my father as a family again.x x For years I wondered if I had just whispered to my dad that he should go out and get something better 'cause mama didn't seem to like the iron, maybe our little family would still be intact and spending Christmases together instead of my brother and me shuffling back and forth between parents, grandparents and states.

-- Tanya Ballard

Cowboys Don't Wear Pink

When I was 9, my stepfather gave me what I'd always coveted for Christmas -- a Dallas Cowboys uniform. Okay, it wasn't actually the Cowboys silver-blue togs, white jersey with blue numbers and silver-blue striped helmet adorned with a perfect blue star. The whole get-up was generic, all white. My stepdad, Cassell, painted the thing -- two big pink stars on a white helmet and two pink 19s -- the number of my favorite 'Boys receiver, the graceful Lance Alworth -- one on the front and another on the back of the white shirt. I played in it once. The older boys thought I took Alworth's nickname, Bambi, a bit too seriously.

-- Darryl Fears

'I Was a Stranger, And You Welcomed Me'

The old woman standing in my doorway on a snowy Christmas Eve more than 10 years ago looked vaguely familiar. Maybe she lived in my condo. I like to think that once I'd said hello to her, but probably not. Now, as I was preparing dinner for my family, she'd come to my door wearing slippers, a housedress and a cardigan.