RECORD STORE TALES #1097: Why We Always Liked Christmas Eve Best – An Uncle Paul Story

Christmas was always a big deal in our family.  It was a multi-stage affair:  many dinners and many gifts at several residences.  In my earliest years, the Christmas festivities would begin in Guelph, Ontario.

The Ladano clan originated in Amalfi, and then Sicily.  When they came to Canada in the early years of the 1900s, they settled in the largely Italian town of Guelph.  This is where my grandfather lived, and we would make our way to his house in the snowy afternoon of December 24.  We journeyed from Kitchener, and my Uncle Paul and Aunt Maria came from Stratford.  The first round of gifts would be given.  A lot of “dinky cars”, Hotwheels and Matchbox.  Eventually we would fall asleep, and at the end of the night, we’d be loaded in the car for the drive home.  We would probably have slept in the car too, if not for my dad’s shenanigans from the driver’s seat.  He always had us on the lookout for “Rudolph”.  We had to beat Santa home to the house!  “Rudolph” was in fact a red light atop a radio tower, but look for him we did.  Radio stations would egg us on with “Santa sightings” on their radar.  We’d always make it home before Santa arrived.

After my grandfather died, Christmas Eve changed.  My uncle and aunt would arrive mid-day at our house from Stratford.  This is where my strongest memories begin.

My sister and I would already be on holidays and we could not — COULD NOT! — wait for Christmas Eve!  Whatever old Atari games we had were boring compared to what we thought was coming.  Killing time was the name of the game.  We watched whatever Christmas specials were on, good and bad.  It seemed like an eternity, and it felt like those days crawled by like months.  Then, finally, December 24 would come, and Uncle Paul and Aunt Maria would too!  And they always brought the best gifts.  No clothes from them.  Only fun.  Candy, puzzles, games, books, and toys only!  We had to be showered and dressed, because they’d be here any minute!

We’d stare out the front window at every car.  Nope, not them.  Nope, not them.  Wait!  That’s them!!  Their car would slowly turn through the snow into the driveway.  Then they’d get out and start unloading the gifts!  “Look at the size of that one!” I’d cry.  “I hope that’s for me!”  My mom would interject.  “It’s not for you, now go down and help!”  And so we’d race down the stairs and hug them and carry the bags and bags of gifts upstairs.  They also brought food and treats.  My aunt’s home-made pizza would be lunch for the following day.

There was one year that was so snowy, we didn’t know if Christmas Eve would have to be cancelled or not.  It seemed unimaginable!  The snow that night was some of the deepest I had ever seen.  Uncle and Aunt had never missed a Christmas Eve before!  No blizzards ever stopped them.  One year, they came by train, but they never missed.

Once Uncle and Aunt arrived, it felt like Christmas had really started.  Then and only then.  Before that moment, there was tension and anticipation.  My mom had so much to do in the kitchen before they got there!  “If you’re not going to help then stay out of the way!” she would scold.  We’d run to join my dad in the living room, waiting patiently watching old black & white Christmas specials.  But then Uncle and Aunt would pull into that driveway wearing their warm sweaters, and Christmas would really begin.

After we got our first Schnauzer, the doggie would go crazy when they appeared in our driveway.  The dog would bark and bark and bark from the front window, and then race down the stairs to greet them first.  Of course, this happy was greeting was conditional upon treats, which were ready in pocket.  The dog would wind around our legs as we tried to carry gifts up the stairs.

Uncle and Aunt’s gifts were always opened on Christmas Eve, just like they were back in the old days in Guelph.  And they got us the best gifts.

My uncle would always tell us, “be patient!” but we couldn’t wait to rip into their gifts.  As the 80s wore on, the nature of the gifts evolved.  At first they were Star Wars guys and Atari games.  Soon after, GI Joes and Transformers.  This gave way to music.  Cassettes first, and then CD, with some VHS tapes mixed in for good measure.  There were never socks.  No button-up shirts, no mittens, no slacks.  They never bought us clothes, and they were proud of it!  Stratford has some interesting toy stores, so we often received unique 3D puzzles and brain twisters.  Stratford also has the best candy stores, and we would often get special treats too.  They were so generous to us.

After a few gifts were relieved of their wrapping paper, my dad and uncle would go for a drive — an annual tradition.  They would go check out the new cars for sale at the local dearlerships and admire the vehicles, imagining which they would buy next.  The rest of us thought this was the most boring Christmas tradition ever!  For a few years in the mid-80s, my sister had a paper route.  For those years, the tradition was that my dad, uncle and I would pile into a car and help her deliver the papers door to door.  One year the snow was so deep, it felt like we were blazing new trails through the Antarctic glaciers.

Dinner was always a fun affair.  My uncle had a few beers by then, and was even more playful than usual.  My sister and I would fight over who got to sit next to him.  (My mom came up with assigned seating at one point, probably because of us.)   He was always curious about our gifts.  If it was music, he wanted to have a listen to a song or two.  If it was a toy, he wanted to watch us put it together, or see how it worked.  We received so many cassettes from them during the tape era!  I can’t remember the exact tape, but I remember one store sold a cassette to my aunt with the big clunky security case attached.  Let me tell you people, it took two grown men, one teenager, and two pairs of scissors to get that rubbery plastic shell off my Judas Priest.  (It wasn’t Judas Priest, but I like the way that sentence sounds.)  There was also a store in Stratford that could get unusual special orders, and my aunt often secured rare musical gifts that I couldn’t find in town.

The early 80s were particularly frantic.  The years of Star Wars and Atari.  So many games!  Haunted House was responsible for one pretty fun Christmas Eves.  During the Atari era, my sister and I would disappear into the basement for long stretches of time playing all our new games.  Then we’d wake him up early Christmas morning, because they slept on the fold-out bed right in front of the TV!

Uncle Paul didn’t know or care a thing about Star Wars or Star Trek.  He was a car guy.  He gave his own names to our toys.  “Tauntaun” became Toto.  The nine-armed FX-7 medical droid was the “coffee maker”.   We loved this about him.  It didn’t matter that he didn’t know an R2 unit from a protocol droid.  He didn’t care that we didn’t know our cars.  Sometimes, we would just quietly sit next to each other without saying a word while we let others do all the talking.  Then he might nudge me in the side and laugh.  Those were good Christmas Eves.

Christmas Eve hasn’t been the same since my uncle fell sick.  We’re older too, and a Star Wars figure doesn’t elicit the same tear-the-box-open kind of excitement.  Plus, who can afford Star Wars figures these days?  And don’t get me started on GI Joe.  I know there are a multitude of reasons why Christmas Eve isn’t what it once was, but I can’t help but feel that a huge part of that is Uncle Paul.  Their arrival on December 24 was the official commencement of festivities.  Without him, everything seemed so much more…adult.

Over the years, my sister and I would invite friends, boyfriends, and girlfriends to join us on Christmas Eve.  No matter who was joining us that night, there was one universal constant:  everyone loved Uncle Paul.  He was kind, attentive and most of all, he was fun.  He was always the most fun of everyone.  Even if he was just sitting quietly next to my dad, every so often you’d hear his distinctive laugh and know they just shared an inside joke.

That’s just Christmas Eve.  Our Christmas was a long affair, involving a special Christmas Day, and a visit to Stratford on the 27th every year.  But those are tales for another day, and as I remember my Uncle Paul, one memory triggers a cascade more.  Of these, the many Christmas Eve memories are the strongest.  And that’s why we always loved Christmas Eve best of all.