(GRASSTOPS USA) — It may seem strange for a Jew to write about his favorite Christmas memories, but my happiest are from Christmas Eve in the early 1960s, in Johnstown, the town where I grew up in upstate New York.
I usually helped out late in my father’s store, wrapping packages and ringing up sales, work that required no familiarity with the merchandise – ladies clothing – of which I had none. I can still make change in my head, but, alas, have lost my package-wrapping skills over the years.
Even though I knew there’d be no presents waiting for me under the tree we didn’t have, it was a glorious time.
Advertisement - story continues below
Everyone was happy. Streets gaily lit. Not wishing someone a “Merry Christmas” would have been unimaginable – tantamount to not placing your hand over your heart when the Pledge of Allegiance was recited. Lights made hazy by swirling snow, the town’s Christmas tree resplendent in its ornaments, “White Christmas” blared over loudspeakers – what’s not to like, right?