Some people remember their childhood vividly. I don't. I don't recall what I received for Christmas when I was six, or seven, or even eight. I know I received a "Velvet" doll as a gift, but I'm not sure if it was for my birthday or for Christmas. I remember you could pull her ponytail to make her hair grow longer, and you could push a button on her hard plastic stomach to shorten her hair. I remember my gold bicycle with the metallic flakes and a white banana seat. Was it a Christmas gift or birthday gift? I have no idea.
My first Christmas memory is of being sick and missing the Christmas dinner and gift exchange at my Grandpa and Grandma Barber's house. I remember crying as my parents and my brothers left the house. Hot tears rolled down my feverish cheeks as I watched them leave. My cousins would be there. Grandma would be serving her delicious dressing. Uncle David would surely have a special gift for me. And I wouldn't be there. Never mind that my parents would bring my gifts home. I was too young to be consoled by that thought.
I remember my Granny Miller sitting on the edge of the bed as I cried. She rubbed her hand on my back and it felt cool. Over and over, she moved her hand in a figure eight pattern until I was calm. I can remember what it felt like to have her cool hand on my feverish back, but most of all I remember thinking that she must surely love me. I knew that she had been disappointed to miss the gift-giving as well, but she stayed with me. Because she loved me. I knew that she loved me, she had told me, but this was different. Now I understood love.
My first Christmas memory is of being loved and understanding what that meant. What is your first Christmas memory?
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