Christmas in Ohio

By Sylvia Miller

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As the youngest of eight children, I have some special memories of Christmas while growing up on a farm in Ohio. I was a surprise bundle that came along late in my parents’ lives, so while I did not experience Christmas morning fun with seven siblings, I do remember large family gatherings when my married siblings visited, bringing with them my 24 nieces and nephews! So many hugs, kisses, and delighted little ones. The house smelled of roasting turkey, freshly baked pies, and baby powder.  One year my older nephew was talking about a guy whose nickname was “The Juice,” so we turned on our black and white TV and watched OJ Simpson play football. When it came time to open gifts, chaos was the norm with wrapping paper flying everywhere, new toys being tested, and the occasional “borrowing” of someone else’s toy because it looked much better than the one received. Then we would phone my two brothers and their families who lived out of state. Everyone took turns exchanging a few words before passing the phone to the next person to make the most of the “long-distance calling” fees assessed back then.

Another favorite memory was going over to Berne, Indiana, in early December to a very large church that performed Handel’s “Messiah” each year. Members of the church constituted about a 200-member choir, and each year they’d bring in outstanding soloists from Chicago, New York, and other cities for a first-class performance. I truly treasure the memories of attending this wonderful classical production each year with my parents.

Growing up on an Ohio farm meant some manual labor at times, but Christmas afforded us the opportunity to rest, gather together, love on each other, and reflect on the true meaning of Christmas.

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