The excitement of Christmas invokes wonderful memories of childhood

It’s hard to believe, I know, but I was once a kid. A kid who grew up in a distinctly working class family where Christmas was unquestionably my favourite time of year. Dad was a returned Soldier who worked at the Railways Locomotive Shed in Bendigo for 40 odd years. Mum worked at the Kia-Ora Tomato Sauce bottling plant in Bendigo until they’d saved enough for a deposit on a house financed through a War Service Loan. They made that house their home for the rest of their life together until Dad passed away with Lung Cancer.

Every year Dad would head out into the bush in early December to find us a Christmas Tree. No such thing as plastic trees in those days. Mum would take great pride in decorating the tree and the lounge room and those decorations remained in place each year until New Year’s Day.

Mum would start shopping for Christmas presents around September and keep a list of what she’d spent on everyone to make sure that none of the kids had more spent on them than the other two. She continued this practice with her three daughter’s in law, her eight grandchildren and her many great grandchildren. I can’t imagine any parent spending more time shopping for presents than Mum did and up until her death, she’d make sure the receipt for every present purchased was retained in case the gift (usually bought on Sale) needed changing.

It’s impossible for the youth of today to understand what a treat it was in those days to have a roast chicken for Christmas Lunch. Chicken was too expensive to eat on a day to day basis and our usual protein was a fortnightly side of lamb that Dad would pick up on his bike on pay day from the family butcher. Dad rode that bike to work every day, rain hail or shine until his retirement and I’m embarrassed to say that while he would be pedalling his way to the Loco Sheds I’d have the family car to drive to College, cricket practice or whatever I had on. What an absolute gem of a Dad he was.

With a leg of lamb today costing $20/kilo and a Chook about $4/kilo, times really have changed. Dad was a big man but the war seemed to have sucked all the anger out of him and he was a truly gentle man. I’m sure he accepted the role of chook executioner at Christmas reluctantly and I can clearly recall one of his less successful beheadings resulting in a headless bird charging from the chopping block behind the garage around the house to the back lawn. Thankfully it ran out of steam before escaping over the back fence otherwise it would have been Roast Lamb for Christmas lunch that year. The roast chicken (especially if you got the wishbone) and the threepence and sixpence coins in the plum pudding were nearly as good the presents – nearly but not quite!

All the extended Edwards family would come together for Christmas Lunch and I can’t remember one crossed word ever being exchanged on Christmas Day. That might have been because Mum was a strict Methodist and lunch was always a teetotalers delight, but no matter the reason, they were invariably joyous days. Days I still cherish. The extended Family lunch eventually moved to Boxing Day to make it easier for everyone to attend and up until Mum’s death a few years ago, the tradition continued, with the only change being the lifting of the ban on alcohol many years ago – still no blues though.

One of the most traumatic episodes of my childhood involved Christmas when my Brother Barry and his terror of a mate, Phil Cartledge, decided to tell me that there was no Santa Claus. As a five year old, I obviously knew they were lying and I flew into a rage with boots, fists and teeth looking for a good landing spot on either of them. The only thing that saved them was Mum coming out to the backyard to see what the yelling was about. That plus the fact that they were about 6 years older than me and could easily outrun me any day of the week. I never forgave either of them.

I like to think we instilled our love of Christmas into our kids and the excitement and joy on the faces of their children (Mitch is a bit too cool to show excitement now unfortunately) when they see their piles of presents each year makes me think we did something right. That excitement really does invoke the best memories of growing up and I wouldn’t swap my childhood for anything.

On the health front, Living with Rupert, Long Covid and Hormone Therapy is having its challenges. You’ll see in the lists of side effects for Prostate Cancer, Long Covid and Hormone Therapy below, that fatigue features prominently in each one and fuck a duck, I really seem to be coping it from all three. I’m trying to keep up a bit of an exercise regime but a forty minute walk today will mean tomorrow spent flat on my back having to force myself to get up out of bed. It’s not ideal and I really hope it gets better in the weeks ahead but there are no guarantees it will. This just might be as good as life gets for me but at least I’ll have Christmas 2022 to keep me smiling.🎄🎄🎄🎁🎁🎁