Chapter 15

Christmas time with Dad

When I was a kid, we never got our Christmas tree until about two weeks before Christmas. Dad always waited till the price went down a little. Back then you could pick up something with a confer smell, bark and sparse needles for about $2.50. The day before Christmas you could get one for even less than that. Can supply and demand be better expressed in Christmas tree sales? I think not.

As long as Dad walked the earth we always got a live tree. I don’t know if it was because he really wanted one or he realized it would break our hearts if he got one of the artificial ones. Back then artificial trees looked more like silver tapered bottle cleaners. Sweatshop workers with metal poles, wire-cutters and very little imagination assembled ‘em. Only childless old people bought ‘em. No kid in the neighborhood could handle such shame.

That being said, Dad was the worst tree picker-outer in the world. Hey, it’s recorded somewhere. Every tree is supposed to have one good side to it. Not the one’s Dad bought. Each year it looked like we got a Frankenstein tree. Some of us hid in the closet when in walked itself into the house.

The people who bought the good trees always displayed them in front of the biggest window in the house. Mom put our tree in the corner away from the window.

We usually helped Mom decorate the tree. Mostly just the icicles. She wouldn’t trust us with some of the more sacred ornaments. That’s a joke. We had no sacred ornaments. We had some old ones, but that was back when old was bad. And, I don’t mean bad in a good way.

Dad never helped with the tree. Oh, he’d saw off a piece of the trunk and attach the heavy metal holder thing. After that, he’d leave it alone. Dad wouldn’t decorate trees. You couldn’t make him.

The Hayter kids at Christmas time. A more charming group? I don't think so. Back row: Larry, Lynda, Susan. Middle row: Dennis, Mark, Jill. The scared kid: Li'l Al.

He did decorate the outside of the house. Once. I don’t know where he got the lights. I imagine he got ‘em at the airport. They were those lights with the giant bulbs attached to frayed wire that was strong enough to pull a dump truck out of a sinkhole. They don’t make Christmas lights like that anymore. Not even in China. That should tell you something.

Dad put a strand of those bubbas across the front of the house and around the door. The paint on the bulbs was chipped off in places, so you couldn’t tell what color light was supposed to be. I would’ve just as soon he not put ‘em up.

Oh, and the whole thing sagged like… well, like something saggy. Probably because there was no one to help him. Dad didn’t want anyone helping him. The job involved a ladder, wires and glass bulbs. – “Okay, everybody give me room! On second thought, get outta here!” -- “Yes, sir!” – “You got it, Dad!” – “You’re talkin’ to air, ‘cause we ain’t here!”

One thing that made our outdoor lights particularly sad were all the lights we saw on our way to church. People in other neighborhoods really knew how to put up lights. They had good ones, too. And sleds and reindeer and lit candles under lunch sacks. I never understood that.

Sometimes Dad would take us way across town to see the lights. Those were the good times. Mostly. I say that because there were from four to five of us in the backseat. One would say, “Hey, look over there!” All of sudden the car would tilt to the right. – “Mom, Jill elbowed my neck!” – “Oh, yeah, well Dennis frogged my arm!”

“I’m gonna wring your necks if you kids don’t shut-up!” Mom said stuff like that a lot. The Christmas season did little to temper her threats. “I’ll beat you with that 2 by 4 candy cane over there! Honey, make ‘em shut-up!”

Dad would say, “Quiet.” That’s all it took. Mom was upset with us all the time, ‘cause she was with us all the time. Dad? Well, his tolerance level was way down there. While Mom might have a half dozen threats in her, Dad had none. You never knew when it was coming, so you took no chances. “Yes, sir.” – “Won’t hear another word out of us.” – “We’re not even here anymore.” -- Uh, where are we Dennis?” – “Shut up, Mark.”

After we got home, we’d run to the living room and sit around the TV, eat popcorn and watch Perry Como’s Christmas show. This was back when variety shows were popular. They were the corniest, but the most fun of all… the Christmas shows.


There is one particular thing about Christmases that I don’t remember. I know that sounds stupid, but read the next sentence. I have no recollection of ever sitting on Santa Claus’ lap. You can go through the entire contents of the three dozen or so shoeboxes of Hayter photos and you will find not a single picture of one of Faris and Elsie’s kids sitting on a Santa lap.

That’s because it either didn’t happen or it happened but Mom and Dad couldn’t afford to buy the photos. I’m quite sure in my case that it didn’t happen. I’d enjoy sitting on the lap of a fat guy with a fake beard and red outfit about as much as I would sitting on the lap of a circus clown. People who have to disguise their appearance scare me. They did back then, and they do today. While Mom and Dad made me do a lot of things I didn’t want to do, I have no memory of them forcing me sit on the lap of any costumed freakazoid.

Back then there were two major places that unfortunate children could visit Santa. One was Sears. Sears always had a Santa. Well, not in July. That was cute of you to bring it up, though. Sears also had roasted cashews for $1 a pound. Dennis and I used to get a quarter’s worth. I wouldn’t have mentioned that if it hadn’t meant so much to me. Great cashews.

Sears used the same Christmas decorations year after year. Why try to improve on mediocrity? They had green lit reindeer at the top of each corner of the building. Might’ve been angels… or maybe Christmas trees. The mind is fading. In the middle, a lit up Santa was sitting in a sleigh. The display was a laugh by today’s standards, but back then it was spectacular. When Sears put up their lights it added to the excitement… as if we needed any coaxing to get excited.

While a trip to Sears excited the daylights out of us, nothing compared to Gulfgate. That’s the other place where you could find Santa. The guy is sitting in Sears, yet, at the same time he’s at Gulfgate. Just made no sense to me.

Gulfgate was the first shopping mall in the country. Probably even in the universe. Don’t know if you knew that. Not real sure it’s true, but I heard it somewhere. Gulfgate had all kinds of stores under the same pretty much the roof. We didn’t even know they could do that. It’d be like a Chevrolet dealership housing Buicks. Impossible. Uh, used to be.

Gulfgate during it's heyday. And, no, I have no idea where heyday came form.

Yet, there it was. There were shoe stores, clothing stores, drug stores, toy stores, candy stores… It was revolutionary. One of the stores was Sac’s. It had an escalator. That was the only reason we set foot in the place.

We never bought anything at Gulfgate. Sears either. But we did visit during Christmas. Mom and Dad would even let Dennis and me go off on our own. Can you believe that? We weren’t old enough to stay at home by ourselves, but we were trusted to wander around the mall. We looked at BB guns, electric football games, cowboy pistols and holsters, toy cars… We thought that heaven was Gulfgate, only, in heaven, God let you play with the stuff. At earth’s Gulfgate? Not so much.

We were all supposed to meet back at Woolworth after an allotted time. When we got there, Dad would buy us each a coke at the Diner in the store. The Coke poured right out of a fountain into a real Coke glass with a straw. And, we didn’t even have to share! I’m not making this up. One Christmas Dad even got us each a hamburger. I almost wet myself with excitement. Woolworth Diner. Does it get any better than that?

Woolworth Diner

During one Christmas trip to Gulfgate, a car dealership had displayed a bunch of autos all over the mall. While we were looking at toys, Dad was kicking tires and sitting in the driver seat of each car. I couldn’t tell you the make or model, but there were a bunch of vehicles.

After all the walking around and the Woolworth visit, we headed through the parking lot for the car. Dad was the leader of the pack. He’s the only one who could find the car. Dennis, Jill and I were lagging behind him a bit and one of us noticed that Dad had a massive rip in the seat of his pants. We looked at each other, and then Dennis gave me one of those looks that force me to laugh. I tried to hold it, but it was impossible. My attempt to camouflage it as a sneeze was no good.

Dad heard me. He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at me. He said, “What is it?” Dennis looked at me like, “Yeah, what is it, Mark?” As scared as I was I couldn’t help it. I said, “Daddy, you’ve got a big rip in your pants.” Then I started laughing again. I think it was a combination of all the fun we had at the mall, the Coke at Woolsworth, and everyone acting happy. Whatever it was I had to laugh. Dad could’ve taken his belt off right there and I wouldn’t have been able to stop until the first swat.

But, that didn’t happen. Dad turned around to Mom and said, “Honey, how bad is it?” Mom grinned real big and said, “Yep, you ripped out the whole seat.” Then Dad said something that made everybody join in the laugh. He said, “Can you believe that? There I was bending over all those cars in there, while the whole backside of my pants were gone.” Then he laughed. Dad laughed at himself. When you’re around someone you love, respect and fear, and that person starts laughing at himself… well, it can only draw you closer.

We all walked to the car in a stagger from all the laughter. All the while, Dennis, Jill and I were staring at Dad’s pants and imagining people looking at him as he bent over the cars. Dad was in a good mood the whole way home. It was like a miracle outing. What makes the memory that much more cherished is the realization that after we left Gulfgate, Dad probably didn’t have two dimes left in his pocket. Christmas was approaching, he and Mom had our toys in layaway with no real idea how they were going to make the last payment, yet, Dad gave us each a treasure that night.

I can’t remember what I got for Christmas that year, but 50 years later I do remember our trip to Gulfgate. It didn’t take nearly as much back then to get you to discover enjoyment. It’s sad that it too often takes so much more.

Well, I’ve got just a bit more before I finish the Christmas story part of the book. We’ll do it… next time. It’ll take about a week.