Christmas mornings used to mean oranges and black-handled pocket knives.
I was always the first one out of bed on Christmas mornings, unlike the other 364 days of the year, and couldn’t wait to see what was spread out under the tree.
The gifts for me never missed - without fail, they were things I needed or wanted.
And there was always a sock full of special things. An orange, a black-handled pocket knife and a enough mixed nuts to fill whatever space was left.
We had neither a fireplace mantle nor red stockings, so my sister and I made do with my dad’s work socks laid out under the tree.
As we got older, the presents under the tree matched our growing tastes and interests, but the contents of the socks never changed. Every year, there was an orange, a knife and a sockful of nuts.
Once I realized that it was an annual thing, I would start jonesing for that orange a good week ahead of time.
Year after year, it was a big, sweet navel orange with juice that would squirt your eye. And hazelnuts, Brazil nuts, pecans, English walnuts. I like them all and would have the orange and the nuts eaten long before it was time for dinner.
As I contemplate Christmas six decades later, I find that my wishes are different. I wouldn’t have much use these days for a Have Gun Will Travel cap gun, but peace on earth and good will to men sounds better with every passing holiday season.
An end to violence, to wars, to hate, to hunger, disease and cruelty. When I was six and sitting in my pajamas around
When I was six and sitting in my pajamas around the Christmas tree, my world was happy and as bright as the angel perched on the top branch.
And that is my wish for this Christmas. Happiness for everyone, peace and safety, hugs for children and a kind world for all.
And the smell of a navel orange.