We all have lots of Christmas memories, some happy, some sad. Some we remember more than others.
There’s a scene in my mystery novel, Unfinished Business, where Ann and her older sister, Marnie, are remembering a Christmas from their childhoods: the year they decided to search their parents’ house, looking for their presents. More than anything, Ann wanted a Cabbage Patch doll for Christmas that year and, in a hidden compartment in the closet of the master bedroom, she found it. At first, she was thrilled but, as you can imagine, finding the doll put quite a damper on her Christmas. She ruined her own surprise.
That scene was a fictionalized version of what happened to me when I was a child. I wanted a Patty Play Pal doll so badly and, like Ann, I searched our house and found the doll hidden in my parents’ closet. On Christmas Day, I had to pretend to be surprised when I unwrapped the doll but I’m pretty sure my mom and dad knew the truth. Needless to say, that was the first and last time I ever went looking to see what Santa or my parents had gotten me for Christmas. (By the way, since my name is Patricia, I named the doll Cathy.)My Dad, Mom, brother, me (with Cathy) and my maternal grandfather