Connie Goff: Life's firsts make some of the best memories

Life is full of "firsts." Of course we don't remember all our firsts –– that first tooth, first word, first step  –– but many firsts do stick in our minds –– particularly Christmas firsts.

I don't remember my very first Christmas, but I remember the one was when I was 5 years old. That was the year I spotted a beautiful walking doll with auburn hair displayed in the window at Pierson's Hardware in sunny downtown Burlington Junction. Grandpa Okie and I were walking down the street that day when suddenly she took my eye. I had to stand on tippy-toes to gaze in the window. I instantly fell in love with that doll. I'd never seen anything so beautiful in my life and I wanted her –– I wanted her bad!

My plan of action was to ask Grandpa for the doll. Why? Because Grandpa loved me so much and I knew he would get me whatever I asked for. I was right. On Christmas Eve that year, I opened a big, bright, red box that had my name on the tag. There she was. My life was complete!
I also remember the first time I combed her hair –– the curls fell out, I lost the ribbons and could never make it look pretty like it had in the store window. I remember the first time I took her clothes off –– lost them –– never were they found again.

I remember the first school Christmas program I was in. I was a Christmas tree –– a very cute Christmas tree, if I do say so myself. Grandma Cornie painstakingly made my costume out of tiers and tiers of green crepe paper –– with hundreds of tiny ornaments sewn all around it. I also remember my brother Billy, at that same program. He was dressed like an oriental person and I definitely thought he looked pretty silly in his costume –– kind of like he was wearing PJs and a dorky hat.

I remember the first time I realized my parents were ridiculously conservative about gift-giving. That was the Christmas my main gift was a zippered notebook with a map of the world on the cover. I'm almost certain I had not been begging for school supplies for Christmas that year. And I definitely don't believe Santa is that practical.

I remember the Christmas I discovered there was no Santa Claus. I've told this story before, so I won't belabor the issue. Just suffice it to say it was a devastating experience for one who loved the fat man in red so very much. I had to work a little harder to get in the Christmas spirit from that moment on.

I remember the Christmas of 1968. Oh yeah, I most certainly remember that year when Roger Goff surprised me with an engagement ring. He hid the small, neatly wrapped gift in the glove compartment of his car. As we drove away from his house that Christmas Eve, the door of the glove compartment popped open, I saw the small gift, but had no clue it was for me –– I reached over and closed the door.

Imagine my surprise when that ever-romantic young man pulled the small gift box out of the glove compartment and told me to go ahead and open it.  Imagine my embarrassment when I opened the small jewelry box and realized what was inside. Who knew?

I remember our first Christmas together after getting married. We bought our first Christmas decorations –– two boxes of balls (one red and one blue), one red and blue tinsel rope, a red and blue tree topper and one string of lights. (Notice the color theme here!) We had very little money for gifts, but I distinctly remember the Hot Wheels race track and hat I gave him. I still have the hot rollers he gave me, but they're too much trouble to use these days.

I remember the first Christmas after becoming a mother. There was no end to the gifts I wanted to give our beautiful, tiny baby girl –– dolls, buggies, stuffed animals, a rocking chair, blocks and balls –– all for a six-week old child.

I remember the first time that same baby girl was in a school Christmas program. She could have been the only child on stage that evening as far as her proud parents were concerned. With her hair fixed to perfection, wearing a ruffly red and white dress and eyes shining brightly, she sang along with her classmates about reindeer paws and Rudolph's red nose.

I remember my first Christmas as a grandmother. That little guy was only 11-months old, but had already brought years of joy to our family. We did much the same thing with Matthew as we had with Rochelle –– smothered him with toys much too advanced for his age, but we were certain his abilities would far outshine those of other children.

There are just too many firsts involving Christmas memories to mention. I try each year to make some kind of new memory –– something we're trying out –– something we hope becomes a tradition.

I hope this Christmas you do something so special it becomes one of your favorite firsts.

Maryville Daily Forum