No matter how old I get, I'm still a kid at Christmas
"Christmas comes but once a year,
Now it's here, now it's here …"
Those are the opening lines of the song that Grampy, Betty Boop's grandfather, sang in a Christmastime episode of a Fleischer brothers 1930s cartoons featuring Betty Boop.
I, of course, was not alive when Betty Boop was created.( You knew that, dear reader right?) But the cartoons were frequently broadcast on the black-and-white TV of my childhood, and my younger twin sisters and I loved to watch them.
My sisters even had Betty Boop dolls. I am not sure why Santa didn't bring one for me, but I had many others.
I remember those dolls. I also remember — and this is really strange — I never named them with names like Susie or Mary Jane.
No, I always referred to them by the names their manufacturers had given them.
Betsy Wetsy had a special talent. There was a little hole in the middle of her pursed lips, big enough to insert a tiny bottle filled with water. There was another opening at the bottom of her torso. Delightfully, I could feed her, and her tiny diaper would immediately become “wetsy.”
Betsy had blue eyes that opened and closed. I don't recall when, but at some point those eyes went back in her head. When asked what happened, I’d answer, "She swallowed her eyes."
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Another favorite was bigger — about a foot-and-a-half long. She had a stuffed soft body. Her plastic head was pliable, and she had reddish brown hair in the style of mid-20th-century actress Jane Russell. This doll came with the name “Magic Lips.” She was so called because if you pressed on her midsection, her mouth would open and close — barely. Two tiny little syllables would squeak out: “Heh, heh.”
No promised “mamas” ever were heard, but I loved her anyway.
My dad led the choir at our little church. One year he came home with his younger brother Jim after Midnight Mass. Mom had prepared Italian sausage with peppers, onions and tomatoes in her electric frying pan.
I am not sure what time my parents got to sleep, but my sisters and I were ready early Christmas morning. It was torture to wait for Dad to get downstairs with the movie camera. The three of us raced to the tree in our matching bathrobes, hair curlers and pink hairnets — squealing all the way.
Yes, there were dolls, but there were other presents, too — clothes, books, games. I got a basketball in fourth grade. (I was such a jock. NOT!)
I can almost conjure up the feeling of extreme excitement that Christmas brought. I treasure those memories. I cherish the knowledge that in my parents’ lives, everything they worked for and did was about their three daughters. That certainly was evident at Christmas.
Yep. Christmas comes but once a year, but we felt the love and joy all year round.
Kate Coleman is a writes a monthly Lifestyle column for The Herald-Mail.
This article originally appeared on The Herald-Mail: From dolls to basketballs, my childhood Christmases were the best
