A Christmas Memory: The Gumdrop Tree and Family Traditions

Merry Christmas!!! Christmas Day has arrived and over the course of this month, and part of last month, I have shared so many Christmas memories of my past—some from the books I am currently writing and others just related to the holiday. I will continue to share a few more Christmas memories until the end of the Christmas season, January 6 though maybe not as frequently. 

Christmas seems to have come so fast this year, at least for me. Today, a random memory from when I was very little came to mind. It’s from a time when some traumatic events happened in my life, so the details are a bit spotty and pieced together.

There was a period when my parents split up briefly when I was between two and four years old. My mom packed up and flew with my sister and me to stay with my grandmother for what was meant to be a vacation but with the intent to stay in Texas. However, that story is for another time. This story, which happened before I began kindergarten, is a significant memory for me. I'm not sure how long we were living in certain places because, in a short time, we lived in a few houses. We lived in a rented house off Cody Road, where I have a strange memory of possibly getting abducted by something like aliens sneaking in through a hole in the wall behind my chest of drawers. I might share that story in a future blog. We also lived at my granny's house on East Drive in Mobile, Alabama, my grandmother's trailer in Rockport, Texas, our little yellow rented house on Easter Lane, as well as the house we rented from the parents of my sister's friend Laura Moon, just two doors down from the yellow house.

After my parents got back together, we all ended up in the little yellow rented house on Easter Lane. This was shortly after we experienced Hurricane Frederick while staying with my granny until my dad found the yellow house. When we moved in, Daddy did everything he could to try and make amends to my mom, except buying her a replacement wedding band for the one she had lost many years back. When the Christmas season came along, Daddy took us all out to a few places to look for Christmas trees, something that became a tradition. Back in the 70s, places like department stores and hardware stores didn't carry real trees like they do now, and you basically only had three choices: an artificial tree from a department store, a Christmas tree farm, or stands that were usually set up in random parking lots or a vacant area next to a gas station. I know it sounds weird, but this was definitely a thing. Since I moved to Atlanta almost 30 years ago, the only business I recollect that still sets up like this each year is called Big John's.

This particular year, Daddy was going out of his way to make us all happy and wanted this Christmas to be special for us all. We didn’t go to a tree farm but to one of the aforementioned places that had trees set up in a parking lot, or next to one. I don’t remember how the decision was made, but I remember being able to pick out a tree, which I thought would be the one in the living room, but my dad had already picked one out. We all got back into Daddy's pickup truck and headed home, making a stop at TG&Y to buy some Christmas lights and some more decorations. When we got home, Daddy pulled two Christmas trees from the bed of his truck—one taller than the other. The taller tree went into a tree stand, and the other was not cut at the bottom. It was in a planter, complete with its roots—it was a live tree.

The cut tree was placed in our living room, where Mama and Daddy strung the lights and put the star on top before we decorated it. The second tree was placed in my bedroom next to my bed and strung up with a set of our older Christmas lights, the colors a little faded and slightly pastel but pretty all the same. Daddy let Mama decide on how to decorate this one with me. Mama asked what I wanted to decorate my tree with, and I said “candy,” not realizing there really weren’t candy decorations at the time. Nowadays, you can buy decorations molded from candy and ones that look like candy packages. Mama worked her magic, jumped into her yellow Pontiac car, and came home with bags of spice and gum drop candy. Mama was always a creative lady and very much loved making something ordinary into something extraordinary. She also bought silver decoration hangers and took me to my room to begin decorating the tree. Mama showed me all I needed to do was bend the bottom of the hanger slightly and push the bottom of the spice and gum drops onto the wire, then hang each one on the branches. This was really fun because, as tedious as the work was, the fact that we could eat our decorations as we went along made it go quicker. Once we were done, Mama asked if it was missing anything, and I told her a star. We didn’t have the money for a new star, and our actual star was on top of our living room tree, so Mama went into her bedroom and came out with something that resembled a baby doll but with wings and a cord coming from behind—it was an angel. This wasn’t just any angel; it was one from when Mama was a little girl. She got a chair, carefully put the angel on top of my tree, and plugged it into the end of the string of colored lights. While it looked pretty old and dated, I thought it was beautiful. When Mama asked if there was anything else we could add to the tree to make it even better, I said popcorn. We were country people, and I remember seeing popcorn strung on other trees, so it seemed like it might have been a good addition. Unfortunately, Mama said we didn’t have any popcorn because we didn’t have a popcorn popper. Keep in mind, these were the days before microwave popcorn was made. Most people, including us, didn’t have a microwave in our homes. I don’t think my family even knew what one was.

Throughout the Christmas season, I spent more time in my room, laying in bed and looking at the Christmas lights in the darkened room, insisting they stay on all night in place of my nightlight. I also wanted to make sure Santa knew there was a tree in my room. When Mama wrote my letter to Santa, I told her to make sure he came into my room to see it. I was so proud of that tree, and to this day, I still have visions of it. After Christmas, my Daddy dragged our living room Christmas tree to the back of our yard where there was a wooded area, but my Christmas tree was put on our front porch and watered each day until the ground was warm enough to dig a hole. My daddy planted my tree in the corner of my mama’s vegetable garden. Every time we went out there to pick cucumbers, cantaloupe, or something else during the summer, I would remind Mama of our gumdrop tree.

Regarding the popcorn idea, even though we couldn’t put it on the tree, Mama mentioned to my dad what I asked for and how much she missed popcorn. On Christmas morning, an unspoken Christmas wish came true thanks to the Christmas tree in my room. My mama opened up a box to find a brand new West Bend Popcorn Maker. She used that popcorn maker for years and probably still had it up until she passed away. Mama’s popcorn maker was a staple in our house. She would make popcorn for us to snack on at night, make popcorn balls for school functions, and sometimes just make popcorn during the day, just to have some.

This memory is a cherished part of my childhood, a blend of simple joys, creativity, and the warmth of family traditions. Each Christmas, I am reminded of the love and effort my parents put into making the holiday special, despite the challenges we faced. The little gumdrop tree in my room symbolized not just a festive decoration but a gesture of love and a source of lasting happiness.

Christmas Treasures: The Best (and Worst) Gifts of My Lifetime

Merry Christmas Eve, everyone! I find myself reminiscing about some of my favorite Christmas presents over the years. While every gift carries its own special sentiment, there are a few that stand out and bring back a flood of fond memories.

Before I started kindergarten, in the house at the end of Easter Lane, Santa brought me a purple AM radio with a three-foot hardwired cord and a purple and white microphone. It didn't get very loud, but I adored it. The batteries went dead pretty quickly, and my parents never replaced them. I think it's because I only used the microphone to hum into. Even without batteries, I loved lipsyncing to Olivia Newton-John, Juice Newton, and Dolly Parton records. That little radio holds a special place in my heart.

From the early 1980s to the present, I've received Masters of the Universe action figures as gifts from Grandma Manning, Santa, mama, daddy, and Terry. These figures have been a constant source of joy and nostalgia, keeping the magic of childhood alive.

When I was in the 4th grade, we got a Radio Shack TRS-80 Color Computer for Christmas. It was awesome, and I still appreciate the experience of learning programming on it. It was my first introduction to the world of computing, and it sparked a lifelong interest in technology.

Among the best gifts I've ever received were my beloved puppies—Chip the beagle, Pickles the English Springer Spaniel, Peaches the Cocker Spaniel, and Pat the Golden Retriever. Each one brought immense joy and love into my life, even though, sadly, they were taken from me too soon. Animals are the best gifts because they offer unconditional love.

One year, I received a fish tank full of black mollies. My mom ended up taking over their care because I didn't have the time to invest in them, but it was a fascinating gift nonetheless.

In the 6th grade, I got an Emerson CTR932 dual cassette boombox. I carried it around the neighborhood, blasting out Madonna's hits. It was the ultimate symbol of coolness at the time.

Another cherished gift was a Nintendo NES system with a bunch of games from Santa when I was in the 6th or 7th grade. Those games are still some of my favorites. That same year, my mom gifted me a pair of fancy parakeets, Petey and Penny, that the next-door neighbor decided to get rid of. While I wasn't very fond of birds and my mom ended up taking care of them, it was still a memorable gift.

My sister always knew how much I loved music. She bought me The Bangles' "Walk Like An Egyptian" 45 record when I was in elementary school, and later, my very first CD, Michael Jackson's "Dangerous."

In the late '90s, I started building carnival ride models and had purchased a few kits made by IHC Hobby. Terry really went all out and bought a bunch of awesome carnival models for me. I still have them and plan to feature them on my blog in the future.

In 2010, Terry gave me a 4th generation iPod Touch. I used it for over a decade until I made the switch to listening to music on my phone, mainly because I could load up over 128 GB of music on it compared to the iPod's 16 GB. I still have that iPod and occasionally use it at home. It's a reminder of how much joy music has always brought me.

Dolly Parton's "Songteller" book, given to me by Terry, is another treasure. It's filled with stories and songs that showcase the incredible talent and journey of one of my favorite artists. It's a gift that keeps on giving.

One of my all-time favorite gifts has to be the FlashPad 3.0 that Terry gave me for Christmas a few years ago. I still love it so much! The way it combines light and sound in a game that's both challenging and captivating is simply brilliant. Even years later, it never fails to entertain me.

Growing up, my least favorite gifts were clothes, especially those from K-Mart and Walmart during my middle school years. However, looking back, I appreciate the practicality and thoughtfulness behind these gifts. While they might not have been as exciting as toys or gadgets, they were certainly useful and a testament to the love and care my family put into making sure I was well-dressed and taken care of.

Reflecting on these gifts, I'm filled with gratitude for the thoughtfulness and love that went into each one. Every present, no matter how big or small, played a role in shaping my holiday memories and reminding me of the joy and warmth of the season. 🎄✨

A Christmas Memory: Rediscovering "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear"

My sister and I spent a good portion of our childhoods glued to the TV, especially during the colder months. Despite living in Alabama and later in Florida, we felt the chill of winter, at least as far as I can remember. Snow was a rarity, although we did witness some flurries a few times in the mid-80s.
A few Christmases after our move to Florida, my sister and I were already settled down, having inspected all the treasures Santa had left for us and eaten breakfast. We began watching a random Christmas movie on TV that neither of us had ever seen before. It looked fairly recent but had a somewhat dated feel. That movie was "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear."

I only saw the movie that one time, but it left a lasting impression. I wished I could have watched it again, but it was never available at the video store where we rented movies and a VCR. I'm unsure if it was ever released on home video at the time, but even if it had been, it wouldn't have mattered much since we didn't own a VCR—we always rented one until years later when my mom finally bought one.
Even though I remembered the name of the movie, it never seemed to re-air, or if it did, it slipped past my notice. My sister and I recalled its title, but I'm unsure if it resonated with her as deeply as it did with me. I loved it and searched the TV guide every year, hoping it would come back.

"It Came Upon A Midnight Clear" is one of those films that fly under the radar yet still tell a captivating story. The movie centers around a widowed grandfather, played by the legendary Mickey Rooney, who is granted one last Christmas on Earth to spend with his grandson. It was a low-key movie, not exactly a full-blown Christmas film, and had a tinge of sadness to it. The movie was released as a made-for-TV film in 1984 and, while it didn't achieve massive fame, it earned a special place in my heart.

While it may not be a traditional holiday classic, "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear" captured the essence of the season for me. The movie's nostalgic and heartfelt story resonated with my own experiences of Christmas, making it a cherished memory from my childhood. Despite the sadness woven into its plot, the film reminded me of the importance of love and the simple joys of life, especially during the holiday season.

A Heartfelt Christmas Memory: Daddy Decorating Our Yard

Inside our house, Christmas was a cozy and laid-back affair. My mom, sister, and I would decorate the tree or engage in some kind of Christmas craft, like painting cookie dough ornaments. But outside, it was a different story entirely. Armed with a hammer, nails, and our old Christmas tree lights, my dad would transform our home into a mini winter wonderland. Although his intentions were heartfelt, his patience often wore thin, and he’d drop more colorful language in one night than most people do in a lifetime.

My sister, Becki, holding me steady on the ledge of our house on Easter Lane, circa 1980

Over the years, his vision for our yard evolved. It all started with a few wreaths made from a discarded artificial Christmas tree he found at the dump, with working hurricane lanterns filled with kerosene hanging in the middle of each. He then moved on to tacking Christmas lights to the eaves of our house and building large Christmas trains and presents out of old wood for the yard. He was a true genius with wood. One year, he made life-sized wooden cutouts of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs—though I never quite understood their connection to Christmas, they were still awesome. My dad's woodworking skills weren't limited to discarded manufactured wood either. He created all of Santa's reindeer, including Rudolph, from logs too green for firewood and thick branches from various trees being cleared from the vacant lot near our house. My only regret is not getting decent photos of my dad's handiwork each year. I don't believe photos exist for every year, just a few scattered among photo albums that my mom and sister had.

In addition to making our yard festive, there were nights when Daddy would load us up in the car or his truck, and we’d drive around Mobile or Pensacola, through neighborhoods admiring the lights on other people's homes, or through heavily decorated parks. Sometimes we’d drive over to see if the USS ALABAMA Battleship Memorial Park was lit up, though I can’t recall if it ever was back then. My memories have faded a bit over the years. I'm not sure if Daddy was just looking for inspiration or if he truly enjoyed taking in the sights of other people's creations, but it seemed like every time we returned home, he’d add something new to his display. He would work from October through December, gathering ideas from magazines like Ladies' Home Journal, Southern Living, Family Circle, and countless others.

By the time New Year's Day arrived, Daddy would have the decorations down and already packed up and stored in our storage room in the house. I dreaded that day because it meant the season was over until the arrival of Thanksgiving.

These memories of my dad's dedication to creating a festive atmosphere are some of the most cherished of my childhood. They remind me of the joy and magic of the holiday season, and the lengths to which my dad went to make it special for our family.

Elementary School Christmas Concert Memories

Ready for another trip down memory lane to those unforgettable elementary school Christmas concert nights? These evenings were filled with excitement, nerves, and a lot of off-key singing. Picture an hour of kids standing on risers in the cafeteria, dressed in what our teachers told us should be our Sunday best, but often looked like a hot mess. To be completely honest, I didn’t know the lyrics to most of the songs except the ones that I heard on my Elvis record and what was featured in the Christmas specials that would air each year. Otherwise, I was singing my own version, We Wish You A Merry Christmas never included Figgy Pudding in my mind, it was always Piggy Footing or something like that. I’m pretty sure 90% of the kids were either singing out of tune and the other 10% were rolling with it in the style of Ethel Merman screaming at the top of their lungs. I was shy at the time so my words were usually a monotonous mumble at best.

The program was the same every year: all Christmas songs, no Jewish songs. I’m sure there was a Jewish family or two around, but in Pace, Florida, there was only one holiday season—it wasn’t called the holiday season—it was Christmas Season. It was always Merry Christmas, never Happy Holidays or Season’s Greetings.

Our music teacher, Mrs. Chiles, would passionately bang away on the piano while none of us were near a mic, this was basically where we all learned to belt out tunes if we really wanted to be heard. The only microphones were the white Peavey branded mics hanging from the ceiling above us, and I’m sure most of them didn’t even work. Knowing what I know now about sound, floor mics would have been more effective but that was OK, we learned projection. We would belt out classics like "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," "Frosty the Snowman," "Santa Claus is Coming to Town," "Up on the House Top," and the slightly controversial "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus."

Then, the lights would go down, and you’d hear the unmistakable sound of a box of bells being pushed around the stage. When the lights came back up, the hot mess of a choir was now armed with bells. You know what’s coming next... "Dashing through the snow..." as we hit the chorus of "Jingle Bells." It was like an Annie audition gone wrong, with kids belting out "JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE ALL THE WAY," competing with the tinnitus-inducing sound of 90 children armed with bells.

"Jingle Bells" has four verses and one chorus that repeats three times. By the second verse, my mind would wander, and I’d draw a blank, picking it back up at the chorus. This continued through the night until we finally reached the end. But wait, why are they still holding the bells? Oh yes, it’s time for "JINGLE BELL, JINGLE BELL, JINGLE BELL-ROCK"—the stripped-down, Lady Gaga-like piano and bell version of "Jingle Bell Rock." By the time we finished "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," very heavy on the "SHHHH" our parents were probably ready to shove their car keys deep into their ears. The second the last "AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR" left our mouths, we were rushed off the stage, with our parents giving us the fake "You were amazing" speeches as we all headed to the car, the sound of our ears ringing drowning out the parents all telling themselves they were glad that's over and it only happens once a year as the roar of the engines fill the parking lot.

Before moving to Florida, I had a similar experience at my old elementary school, Tanner Williams Elementary. Those concerts were arranged by the librarian, whose name I can't recall. Much like at Pea Ridge, we would stand on the risers in the cafeteria, dressed in our best attempt at Sunday best, and belt out the same set of Christmas classics. Whether it was under the direction of Mrs. Chiles or the librarian at Tanner Williams, the spirit and chaos of those elementary school Christmas concerts were the same. These concerts were more than just performances; they were a rite of passage, a chaotic celebration of the season, and an unforgettable part of my childhood memories.

A New York Holiday: An Unexpected Date and 'Home Alone 2' Adventure 1992

Home Alone 2 Lost In New York

This story is part of a chapter from my book. It recounts a sweet moment during a time when I wasn't getting along with Erik, who was more of a friend but sort of my boyfriend. In this story, I meet a random man in an arcade, lie to him about being stood up by a blind date and he steps in as my date for the night. I hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed living and reliving the moment while writing it.

In December of 1992, I found myself in the heart of New York City, a place brimming with holiday magic and bustling energy. Amidst the bright lights of Times Square, I was on my own, in my own personal Winter Wonderland. While playing pinball at the Playland Arcade, an older gentleman kept coming over to watch me play and try to converse. I had no clients for the night and wasn’t interested in hanging out at bars or doing any sort of "work," so I told him I was there for a blind date who never showed.

I had seen this man around the village a few times. My crackhead friend Tim had even smooched at him once as we passed by him on the street. While he wasn’t the best-looking guy in the village, he was attractive and seemed nice. He asked what my date and I were supposed to do, and I told him we were meeting at McDonald's and then heading to the Loew’s movie theater to watch "Home Alone 2." I don’t know what possessed me to share a bit of the story about seeing the first movie with my mom during a time when we weren’t getting along well, but he listened.

Though not exactly, AI got pretty close to my date.

Since my date missed out on the company of a nice guy, he offered to take me to see the movie instead. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe it was my duty to make Tim's wrong my right for the night. I had no intention of being disrespectful to this man. Perhaps he was the one that Biscuit and Shane told me to look out for as an unexpected "Sugar Daddy." But here I was, picked up by a sort of random man in a video arcade that I’d seen around the city, and he was treating me as if we were on a proper date, not just dumped.

Let me just say for the record, there was no blind date—it was something I made up because I thought it sounded good. So this gentleman not only held my hand and led me to the movie theater, but he also bought us tickets to see "Home Alone 2: Lost in New York" at the Lowes theater, along with two tubs of popcorn, a huge Sprite for me, and a Diet Coke for himself. I was on an unexpected date with a man who took pity on me and stepped in as my fake date’s understudy to my actual, not-really, fake date.

Years ago, while watching the first "Home Alone" movie, I never would have imagined there would be a second or that it would be set in the city I now call home. Not with my mom or even TK, who I felt was embarrassed to be seen with me, but with a sweet man who treated me as a proper date. Despite my initial disinterest in his company, thinking he would try to pull some funny business, we ended up having a pleasant time together. It was unexpected, and I think the hand-holding on the way to the theater was a sweet touch. I’m not sure if it was to give me the full effect of an actual date or if he was just affectionate with anyone.

When the movie began, he settled comfortably in his seat, watching the screen intently. As the film progressed, I found myself leaning my head on his shoulder. Surprisingly, he didn’t pull away or seem uncomfortable. Instead, he seemed to welcome the gesture, snuggling just a little closer. It felt unexpectedly sweet and genuine, almost as if he enjoyed the simple act of closeness as much as I did. His warmth and patience made me feel safe and cared for, turning what could have been an awkward situation into a comforting and memorable experience.

"Home Alone 2: Lost in New York" follows the misadventures of Kevin McCallister as he finds himself stranded in New York City during Christmas. The film captures the spirit of the city beautifully, with iconic landmarks and festive decorations setting the perfect backdrop for Kevin's escapades. Watching the movie while being in the very city it was set in made the experience all the more magical for me. It felt as if I was wandering the same streets alongside Kevin, sharing in his wonder and excitement. The film itself was a delightful blend of comedy and heartwarming moments, with Kevin once again outsmarting the bumbling burglars, Harry and Marv. Macaulay Culkin's performance was as charming as ever, and the addition of Tim Curry and Rob Schneider added an extra layer of humor to the film.

As I watched, I couldn't help but think back to when I saw the first "Home Alone" movie in Pensacola with my mom shortly after its release. The memory of that special time, filled with laughter and joy, added an extra layer of nostalgia to my experience in New York. After the movie, the man took me to a place that served pancakes bigger than your head, around the corner from the Townhouse Bar. We enjoyed our pancakes, which we could barely finish, laughing and talking about where we were from. He was really interested in where I was from because my accent, at the time, had become a hybrid of Southern, mid-Atlantic, and a bit of New York thrown in. The whole experience was surreal, almost like living in a movie myself. Here I was with this strange man, showing me kindness just as Kevin and the bird lady found friendship within the city by chance. They were both exactly what each other needed at the time.

"Home Alone 2: Lost in New York" is a sequel that truly stands on its own, capturing the essence of the holiday season while delivering plenty of laughs and touching scenes. The movie beautifully showcases the magic of New York City during Christmas, from the grand tree at Rockefeller Center to the bustling stores. It highlights the importance of finding others to share the joy of the holiday season, even amidst chaos.

Though I never saw the man who stepped in as the alternate to my fake date again, I often think of his kindness and hope he found someone to appreciate him the way he deserved. To this day, I look back on that night with a smile. The combination of being in New York City, watching a movie set in the same place, and the festive atmosphere made it an unforgettable experience. For a few hours, though I was really just a kid, I felt like a kid again, filled with wonder and excitement.

"Home Alone 2: Lost in New York" remains one of my favorite Christmas movies, not just for its entertainment value, but for the cherished memory it created during my time in the city. It was a brief respite from the complexities of my life at the time, and the film, intertwined with that personal memory, has a special place in my heart.

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Letters to Santa: A Holiday Tradition and a Deep Personal Story

 

Writing letters to Santa was always a cornerstone of my Christmas season. Mama had a unique way of making Santa seem like he was my real grandfather. It was a bit ironic because I did have a grandfather—Mama's stepdad, whom we called PawPaw. Although PawPaw was distant with me, it seemed a mythical being was more family to me. But as a kid, I never knew any better.

One of my earliest memories is sitting on Santa's lap at Springdale Mall when I was about 3 or 4 years old. I was so shy that I forgot everything I wanted to ask Santa for, except GoGo Boots. I think he misunderstood and I got cowboy boots instead. Years later, at 16, I found myself sitting on Santa’s lap again, this time at Macy’s in NYC. I was homeless then and told him I wanted a place of my own. I don’t think the Macy’s Santa understood completely, but he said he would do his best.

Not me but that was my style at 16, though different hair

Mama loved Christmas, and our house was always filled with Santa decorations. Watching Miracle on 34th Street gave Santa a definitive story in my mind, reinforcing the magical aura around him.
My letters to Santa started out like any other kid’s—filled with lists of toys and gifts I wished for. But over time, they evolved into more. They became a place where I poured out my thoughts and feelings, almost like a journal.

I remember one year, in third grade, our teacher Mrs. Kell gave us an assignment to write a letter to someone. I wrote to Santa. Mrs. Kell, who was supposed to be a family friend, wasn’t pleased. She told me Santa wasn’t real and made me write another letter to someone else. I chose PawPaw, but it was my grandmother who wrote back, not him.

Despite Mrs. Kell’s disbelief, the cookies we left out for Santa were always eaten, and the milk was always at a lower level in the morning. To me, that was proof enough that Santa was real.

One of the most personal letters I wrote to Santa was when I was about 9. In it, I came out to him, telling him I was gay and that I was being molested by a neighbor two doors down from me, the father of a girl in my same grade. I wondered if Santa hated me for being gay. Writing that letter was a vulnerable moment, but it felt safe to share it with Santa, as he would understand and possibly give me guidance to make the abuse end. I never got the guidance, but at the age of 12, it did end.

Even now, though I don't write letters to Santa, I still believe in the spirit of Santa and the magic that surrounds his character. The spirit of Christmas and the joy of those childhood memories fill me with warmth and wonder every holiday season.

A Movie Night to Cherish: 'Home Alone' and Motherly Love

Home Alone

Growing up, going to the movies was a rare treat for me. My parents preferred the comfort of home, where TV shows were free and movies often aired without the need for a ticket purchase. At the time "Home Alone" was released, my mom worked during the day at Hackbarth Delivery Service, and she had her evenings free. My dad, on the other hand, worked with Team, Inc. and spent his evenings at Murphy's Lounge on the Pensacola side of Escambia River. Their relationship was strained, their marriage on the brink, and their disagreements frequent.

During this tumultuous period, I was dealing with my own struggles. I found myself in the midst of a complicated friendship, wanting for it to be more. My friend, who I'd known since a bullying incident in the 6th grade, only wanted to keep things casual and secret due to fears of being "out" in our conservative area. I also suspected that he might have been embarrassed for people to know we were boyfriends, let alone friends. This added to my emotional turmoil, leaving me feeling isolated and misunderstood. My mom, in a misguided effort to help, had me attending Alateen meetings and counseling sessions, but all I wanted was to be left alone or to be comforted by my best friend.

In the midst of our constant bickering, my mom decided to treat me to a night at the movies. She went to the bank and withdrew money for our tickets and whatever snacks we wanted at the concession stand. We drove to Cordova Mall, parked near the cinema and bought tickets for "Home Alone," the new Christmas movie everyone was raving about. Despite our troubles, that night, something magical happened.

"Home Alone" was a breath of fresh air. It was entirely different from the other Christmas classic we loved, "A Miracle on 34th Street," but it brought us joy and laughter. Kevin McCallister's antics, as he defended his home from bumbling burglars, struck a chord with us. We laughed together, forgot our worries for a couple of hours, and simply enjoyed the film. After the movie, we wandered around the mall, savoring the rare moment of peace between us. For the first time in a long while, we didn't argue. The next day, we returned to our usual disagreements, but something good had come from that movie night. We had found another Christmas movie to cherish, and it gave us a memory of shared laughter during a time of unhappiness.

"Home Alone" remains a beloved holiday classic for many. Its blend of comedy, heart, and the timeless theme of family makes it an enduring favorite. The film's portrayal of a young boy cleverly outwitting would-be thieves while learning the importance of family resonates with audiences year after year. For me, it will always remind me of that special night with my mom, a night when we found common ground and shared a much-needed laugh.

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