One of the greatest gifts Mom and Dad ever gave my sister and I was that they never argued in front of us, and they went out of their way to make sure we understood that just because they weren't together, it didn't mean that they weren't going to be there for us. There was no drama over visitation rights, or alternating holidays, or restricted visits because they were angry at each other. The only fight I remember witnessing between them, as a matter of fact, was that first Christmas after the separation.
And that fight was a doozy. It lasted for days, but Deb and I only saw the end of it.
(This rare film clip is a glimpse trash talk went down during
"The Great Christmas Battle of 1974."
It's worth sitting through the commercial, and be sure to watch to the end.)
It's worth sitting through the commercial, and be sure to watch to the end.)
It all began with a phone call. I don't know who placed that call, but it was a simple one, something along the lines of:
"I don't know if you've started your Christmas shopping, but you don't have to worry about getting the girls (insert random present here), because I got it already...."
That simple sentence was followed by the recipient of said call saying, "Oh really?" That was code for, "Oh, you think you can show me up? Game on!"
A couple of days later, one parent called the other and coolly upped the stakes.
"Yeah, uh, thanks for letting me know about (insert random present here), because I was just about to get that. Oh, and by the way, I got them (insert bigger/flashier/trendier random present here), so if you were going to get it, don't worry. I've got it covered."
A Barbie doll was seen and raised by a second Barbie...and a Barbie outfit. A school coat was seen and raised by a dress coat...and matching hat, gloves, and boots. Fisher-Price trumped Playskool. A Magic-8 Ball rock was covered with the paper from a Spirograph, which was cut with scissors drawn on an Etch-A-Sketch. No toy, no item of clothing, no stuffed animal was off limits.
Mom says she was on a first name basis with the cashier who worked layaway at the old Sears in Highland Park. ("Girl, you're here again?")
The grandmothers vacillated between calling them both "damn crazy" for spending so much money (cash that neither of them really had to spare, truth be told), and encouraging them to get "just one more thing" so as not to be shown up by "her" or "him."
It all came to a head on Christmas Eve, when it seemed that Santa's bag had exploded in my grandmother's living room.
There were presents everywhere. Under the tree. Next to the tree. On the plastic slipcovered, "don't you dare sit on my good furniture" sofa and chairs. On the coffee table. Under the coffee table. A pathway had to be cleared so we could get from the dining room to the tree, and to the front door so visitors could come in.
Interestingly enough, I don't remember many of those presents having tags that said, "From Santa." They almost all said, "From Mommy," or "From Daddy." When I came up front from my bedroom and saw a literal room full of Christmas, I almost fainted and Debbie's giggles were like the sweetest music ever heard. We eagerly began opening gifts.
BAM! There's a Barbie...and a Barbie wardrobe!
BAM! Check out that cool baby doll!
BAM! Barbie gets a trailer, too?
BAM! Matching rocking chairs...with stuffed toys!
In the middle of all that gift wrap and tissue paper and Christmas consumption, we stood and looked at our bounty. It could not get any better, right?
Then the door bell rang. It was Daddy at the door...and he had a big box in his hand.
"Oh look, girls," Mom said with a smile. At the time, I was too young to realize what a feigned smile or speaking between clenched teeth meant. "Daddy's got another surprise for you."
"Yes I do!" Dad replied, and I know his jaw had to hurt because he was clenching his so tight.
We unwrapped it and...
"OOOHHHH! Mommy look! Daddy got us a TV!"
A state of the art, portable black and white model meant game, TV set and the match to Dad, right?
Not so much, because Deb and I didn't know or care about the rules of the Great Christmas Battle of 1974.
We started tugging at Mom and Dad's hands, happily showing off what the other had gotten us. We hugged, and kissed, and laughed, and cried, and squealed thank yous at the top of our lungs as we played, begged them to play with us, and enjoyed having our parents there with us together one more day.
Then, in the middle of all those toys and all that gift wrap, next to the TV, over by the rocking chairs, they gave each other, and Deb and I, one final gift. Quietly, genuinely, without forced smiles or clenched jaws, they hugged, gave each other a kiss on the cheek, and said Merry Christmas to each other.
That Christmas they waged a full on battle for our love. In the end, they both won.
Tomorrow: Christmas creeps in on little cat's feet....
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