Christmas at Kresge's

 Trigger warning: This story deals with familial mental/emotional abuse.

It was Christmastime again. That season of good will, giving, and joy. Jayne’s memories of Christmas, however, don’t all reflect such happy thoughts. Oh, yes, there were the delicious turkey dinners, which her mother served on Christmas Eve, to avoid the rush and excitement of Christmas Day. The sumptuous meal was enjoyed, and then mother and children would attend the Christmas Eve service at their church nearby.  Her mother’s turkeys were always juicy and tender, instead of the typical dry breast meat offered up by most other cooks. She also included all the trimmings: fragrant, moist stuffing scooped out of the turkey cavity, baked yams, creamy mashed potatoes and gravy, jellied cranberry sauce, and green salad. 

Jayne’s father, not a practicing Christian, but instead with roots in Buddhist heritage, nevertheless liked the season of Christmas, and he would expend some time and effort on his specific plans and ideas about how to observe the season. Jayne appreciated that it was the one time of year when he would be considerably more benevolent and generous than at any other time. Each year, he started by putting up coloured lights along the eaves of the house. When she was very young, he also displayed a lighted Santa face in the living room picture window, to be viewed by anyone passing by. When illuminated, its piercing eyes seemed to follow her, as Jayne walked back and forth on the front lawn. 

In later years, Jayne’s father put in a lot of work in the cold, unheated garage, where he made more elaborate decorations. He purchased life-sized pictures and then glued them onto plywood, cutting out the figures with a jigsaw, and varnishing them. Starting with Santa in his bright red suit, who was waving his mittened hand in a jolly greeting, my father stood them up for display on the front lawn. Then each year, he would add another piece to the tableau--reindeer, the Nativity scene, angels, and children’s church choir. The special feature was that they were lit up at night with floodlights, thereby attracting a lot of attention and compliments. Even the children passing by on their way to and from school were enthralled. 

However, Jayne’s father was very careful—you could even say stingy--about how he carried out his Christmas preparations in other areas. He took great care and time in purchasing a fresh fir tree and would be very proud of himself if he had been able to find one for the bargain price of $2.00, instead of the going rate of $5.00. Yes, it was lopsided, but using his carpentry skills, he would saw off some of the lower branches on the fuller side. Then he would take his drill and make holes in the other side of the trunk and insert them--with glue and sawdust—to make the entire tree look more balanced and natural. While he was busy at this work, he instructed his children on how to test the strings of lights for the tree. In those years, they were the kind where, if one bulb had burned out, none of the others lit up.  So, it was a laborious task to test each socket, one at a time with a brand-new bulb, to try to find the culprit. The children laboured over the task, and they were happy when their father bought new-fangled strings, on which any duds could easily be identified and replaced. 

Once their father had done the more delicate work of stringing the lights, hanging the fragile decorative bulbs, and looping the streamers onto the branches, it was the children’s task to apply the “icicles,” made of thin strips of crinkled tin foil. They were firmly instructed to drape them carefully—not in large clumps—over the branches and other decorations. These would all be carefully saved from year to year, when taking down the tree. The children dutifully placed each strand methodically onto the grooved cardboard holders and then into the flat boxes. These would be placed in larger cardboard boxes with the other decorations, and the used wrapping paper, smoothed out and folded. Christmas was done for another year, orchestrated by her father.

Jayne clearly remembers the year when she was six years old, and her older sister, Evelyn, shared the secret of Santa.  Evelyn started off by telling her that Santa was not real, but in fact, it was their parents who gave them presents in Santa’s name. Evelyn had seen them in the act of preparing treats at Eastertime, when she had got up to go the bathroom late one night. She had deduced that if their parents were Easter Bunny, then they must also be Santa Claus.

Jayne was completely disbelieving and aghast, but her older sister showed her the proof. She quietly led her to the hall closet and pointed to the top shelf. There were two stuffed dogs, partially hidden. One was Lassie, and the other a pink fluffy one, with blue ears. Evelyn told Jayne to “just wait and see.” On Christmas morning, they would get these gifts, and the tags would read, “From Santa.”

After the initial shock, Jayne didn’t think much more about it.  Christmas Day arrived, and they were given their stuffed dogs. She was blissfully stroking her fluffy pajama dog, trying to think up an appropriate name for him. Should she call him “Pinky,” or “Fluffy”? Just then, she happened to look up at Evelyn across the room. Suddenly, Jayne realized that it had happened just as her sister had said. Evelyn nodded slightly, with a knowing, “I told you so” look in her eyes. 

The following year, the family moved to the prairies, to southern Alberta, where the

Chinook winds were well-known. They were a weather phenomenon that was quite unique, happening in southern Alberta, and only a few other places around the world, like Argentina and Switzerland. Although half-expected, they would come up rather suddenly, blowing fiercely at speeds up to 150 km per hour. The downward slope of the east side of the Rocky Mountains created this meteorological oddity, bringing with it a welcome relief from the cold on the prairies below. In the middle of winter, the warm, dry winds resulted in unbelievable temperature increases, up to 20 °C in just a few hours.  There were negative effect of the winds, however. It was said that they could cause feelings of depression and that they led to high suicide rates and other kinds of violence in the area.

For Jayne, she often found that her sleep was disturbed from the howling outside, and while tossing and turning, she worried that she would not get enough sleep to do her best on the next school day. Her father was a stern taskmaster, requiring exceptional marks from all his children, and they dreaded his interrogations when they brought home their test papers. He would growl at them, “So, you got ninety-eight per cent. Where’s the other two per cent?”

On occasion, their father might drive his children to school on a frigid winter morning, on his way to work. They would be all bundled up for sub-zero weather, but by the end of the school day, due to the drastic increase in temperature, Jayne would hardly need a coat. But while walking home, her tiny body would have to battle against the gale-force winds, while also skirting huge puddles of water created from the melted snow. She had to be careful not to get too muddy, or face the disappointment of her mother, who was already beleaguered with all the cooking, cleaning, laundry—washing and ironing—for her brood of four young children.

As each Christmas season neared, money was often scarce, especially in wintertime, when their father’s carpentry work was not as plentiful. Their mother would worry, and Jayne too, became anxious at that time of year. She wasn’t worried about presents or family traditions. It was the fact that Christmas in their family was like a windstorm. Her father was at the helm of the vessel, and Jayne was trapped in the hold. The tempest tossed her to and fro, and she never knew which way the wind was blowing.

Nonetheless, Santa-who-wasn’t-real always seemed to come through for the family. There were always wrapped presents beneath the tree. Santa even kept up with the girls’ needs and interests as they grew, often giving them a gift to share, such as an electric hair dryer, or a full-length mirror for their bedroom wall. He sometimes came up with cutesy comments, like the note taped onto the mirror reading, “Hey, look at them gams!” Of course, her father had to explain that old saying to his more modern daughters. Jayne and Evelyn felt another swoosh of that wind, embarrassed at the sexual reference. 

On an earlier Christmas, something very unforgettable happened, demonstrating that Jayne had no control over her young life, but had to submit to the vagaries of her father’s authority.  They were Christmas shopping, and Jayne and her father were together in one of the two “five-and-ten-cent” stores in their city. Kresge’s was “kitty-corner” from Woolworth’s at a main intersection. Jayne loved both these stores, where she would agonize over potential purchases with her meagre funds: “Which chocolate bar was more value for her ten cents?” It was only occasionally that she chose to go across the street to the newer Eaton’s department store, with its higher prices and upscale atmosphere. 

But Kresge’s was the store that Jayne loved best. The revolving door at the entrance was fascinating, and a bit of challenge to maneuver as a child. Immediately after she had successfully managed it, she walked in the front door, and was confronted with the food counter that sold two of her favourite delicacies. Jayne loved their “rainbow” flavoured ice cream cones, and various delicious types of colourful candy-coated popcorn, her favourite being the shiny black licorice. The floor was oiled hardwood planks, with a distinctive tar-like smell, the boards squeaking in the lighter, more well-worn places, as she walked around the store. At the back were housewares, the most fascinating thing for her being large rolls of oilcloth of different sizes and designs, which were to be cut off in lengths, to use for kitchen tablecloths.

This Christmas season, however, the magic of Kresge’s was erased for Jayne forever. Her mother was scrupulously honest and had taught her children to be the same. Jayne didn’t remember any specific lessons in honesty, but had a strongly developed conscience. Suffice to say that not one of the children had even stolen a chocolate bar, or tried to lie, as is common in many children. In fact, on occasion, as an adult, when Jayne would go back to a cashier to return extra change that had been given to her in error, she would be quickly dismissed, perhaps because the cashier was embarrassed. So, it was a strange situation: doing the right thing, but not being appreciated or recognized for it.

Stranger still, however, this Christmas season, when Jayne was about eight years old, her father found her browsing in the store, and surreptitiously thrust a large light bulb into her hands. “Here,” he said, “I want you to go pay for this.” When she looked at him quizzically, he went on to explain, “See, there’s this coloured cover on it that has a price tag of $1.99, and it covers over the $4.99 price tag on the light bulb. I just went through the till and bought both the bulb and cover for only $1.99, instead of a total of nearly $7.00, so I want you to go through and see if the same thing happens again.”

It was being presented as some kind of prank or experiment, but of course, Jayne knew that this was completely dishonest. At that young age, however, she didn’t think she could defy her father. He spent a great deal of time working away from home, and Jayne was a little afraid of him and his unpredictable moods. More often than not, he was in a bad mood when he came home and would start in with shouting and criticizing their mother and the children for whatever they might be doing at the time. In anticipation of his arrival, they had all rushed around cleaning up their messes, and you could feel the tension when he walked into the house. It was only the rare occasion when he was genial, jocular, or affectionate, usually only when there was company in the house. When Jayne complained tearfully to their mother about her father’s behaviour, her mother would say, “We should be thankful. He puts a roof over our heads and food on the table. He doesn’t go the bar and drink, and he doesn’t hit us.” In her father’s absences, Jayne’s mother would make interim decisions, but these could always be overturned in an instant by her father’s scowl, or worse still, complete silence and turning away. What could be worse than having your needs and wants completely ignored?

At first, Jayne tried meekly to resist her father’s request, but he snapped gruffly and accusatorily, “Why not?” When she couldn’t verbalize a good reason, he guided her toward the check-out counter, and shoved a five-dollar bill into her hand. Not sure what she would do if she were actually asked for $7.00 in total payment, she quietly waited her turn in line.

How could she explain to an adult—and to her own father—that it was a dishonest act, and she didn’t want to be part of it? He obviously knew this and didn’t care. In fact, he seemed to be revelling in the anticipation of “getting something for nothing.” She didn’t know the meaning of irony at that time, but she knew that he was going to use the lamp for lighting up his Christmas decorations, and even though he didn’t profess to be a Christian, it was all wrong.

Her face burned with embarrassment as she went through the process of checking out the lamp.  She handed over the $5.00 and received three dollar bills, plus a penny in change. The kindly cashier tried to make a little friendly conversation, but Jayne could only mumble a response, fearing that the woman would suspect something was amiss. 

Jayne’s father was waiting expectantly for her by the side exit. He leaned in to whisper, “Did you get it for $1.99?” She nodded sadly but affirmatively, handing over the remaining cash. She hung her head as her father bustled her out of the store.  Just like finding herself at the mercy of a 150-km wind, she could not control the direction she wanted to go. The Chinook had blown in. The tears puddled in her eyes.