My First Oldest-Dominant Christmas
Posted: Tuesday, December 13, 2011
by Christofer French
Rain Dancer Associates, LLC
There was a time when being the oldest amongst four children was supreme.
As I reflect back on this brief moment, my mouth still waters.
It was Christmas in 1957. I was 8.
But they were 6, 4 and 2.
For Two Years, I was an Only Child and the Only Breast Feeder
There was a time when I was an Only Child. I did not know she had these baby making intentions. For two years, apparently it was bliss! My Mother confessed to me years later, that I hated giving up breast feeding to all of the other three. Apparently I just loved it from 1949 to 1951, but my mother was determined to have 4 kids eighteen months apart. That meant my love affair with the “available breast” would be diminished in 1951, and then ended by the arrival of the next two. I was told by those who pretended to know that it was time for me to end this relationship anyway, but my mother says that I looked upon her longingly as she dispensed her services to the other 3. I would think that this created in me a sense of disappointment and perhaps jealousy. Though, I do not remember this.
I did not know it, but my subliminal competition with my 3 siblings, whatever lingered from my days of breast deprivation, would now be singularly solved with a tremendous psychological leverage of unlimited “giftage”.
My Father, a generous Christmas shopper was loaded with budget, but what do you buy a two year old boy and a 4 year old, and 6 year old girl? If you are a Dad loaded with coin, your gift buying eyes settle quickly on toys for boys – his oldest boy – Chris.
You must remember that this is the 50’s. The "American Gift and Toy Making Machine" was geared to its newest highest level with the arrival of millions of baby boomers. Please push all envy aside, you must think about the fact that we represented purchasing power - EVEN BEFORE WE KNEW WHAT PURCHASING POWER MEANT. We existed in the beds and cribs of America, where families with growing salaries were pulsating away, waiting for each holiday to come along.
624 West Cedar Street, Victorian Home, Kalamazoo Michigan
Dad had a tree, as big as he could get in the living room. Upstairs were our bed rooms. For days, I just stared at the lights and the glitter and the Star up on top.
My father, Burt the Theatre guy, thought an empty tree suddenly turning into a full tree was incredibly dramatic. He really did not like wrapping presents, so I think this supported his Christmas gift giving approach. Regardless of why he did Christmas this way, it really did have an incredible early morning display. I went to bed just looking at a couple gift wrapped presents that my Mother had placed for the babies.
I came down our stairs on Christmas morning. Again, the kids were the kids, and Mom took care of them. This was me and Dad!
1) An entire Lionel Railroad Set assembled and functioning around the tree. The tree was encircled. Engines, freight cars, gasoline cars, railroad station, city buildings and residential homes. It was astounding! (These Lionel train sets from this era now sell for thousands of dollars)
2) An entire set of soldiers, tanks, and jeeps. Each soldier carried a gun. There were squads and platoons of infantry. I immediately set them up in a battlefield array next to the Railroad station, just itching for the imaginary Nazis to invade.
3) I got two jets as models which I would assemble with glue.
4) I got a Sikorsky Helicopter, quite a large size, which would also be assembled.
5) I got a football uniform, which I quickly donned for the rest of the day.
6) I got an ICBM Missile, which I would also have to assemble.
7) I was also the happy recipient of new winter clothes and shirts and pants and a pair of shoes. Also, a Davy Crocket coonskin hat.
The color of all of these boxes and packages almost made me faint. I kissed and hugged my Dad a hundred times. I had stopped believing in Santa Claus because his stuff was wrapped. I made the connection between unwrapped and Dad and wrapped and Santa. This family myth worked for a couple more years because Mom would wrap, Dad would not. It might have been a bit demystifying, but it worked; especially for me.
Being the Oldest Officially Means Something
Later that day, my Mother and Father sanctified my role in the Familial Church of French. My gifts were so resplendent; they encouraged me with a new sense of myself. They emphasized what being the oldest son would mean. As the years passed, being the oldest became singularly important in many ways. The magnificence of my Pre Eminent Christmas on West Cedar Street would fade. Thanks to WryteStuff, it made me think again of those prepubescent, post breast feeding days when I stood on the brink of trains and guns and missiles and helicopters and football uniforms – and looked forward to what I would not understand until I was hip deep in grades and girls and athletics and guitar playing and singing in my band, and avoiding Vietnam and getting into College, and marrying and the ministry and my own 4 kids with an oldest boy.
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Top-level comments on this article: (3 total)I was oldest too, but solo till we adopted my brother- I was 5 he was 4I kept thinking as the years passed that my ID was "oldest" except for that early early short period.
Fascinating story, and enlightening. I'm an only child, my Dad wanted a boy, and after me..my Mama did not want any more..lol Good read.Thanks very much. I often tell my second daughter Natalie that if she had been the first, that would have been it.
I was the youngest of two, separated out by 7 years. It was almost like being an only kid. I wasn't spoiled but did get everything my heart could want.
You are right about the eldest. The oldest child is a child of the heart. He or she is the pacesetter for the rest of the kids, with more responsibility and sensibility than any of the others. The firstborn is the apple of the eye of grandparents, of parents. They get big presents and the most pictures taken of them when they are small. The world revolves around them. You even recognized your importance in the family - because you were. It's so natural. Lovely story. I'm sure you enjoyed this trip back to your younger days. We enjoyed sharing it with you.What a lovely and warm analysis. That is exactly what I was trying to get across.
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