Happy ghosts of Christmas past

As 2020 sees many of our festive plans reimagined, Pat looks back at her Christmas columns over the decades, recalling simpler times.

- PAT McDERMOTT

For me, there’s no sweeter day on the calendar than December 25. I simply love Christmas.

My first Christmas column appeared in The Weekly in 1984. By then, we had four children: Reagan, Flynn, Patrick and Courtenay. I wrote: “A parent who has spent Christmas Eve struggling to assemble a bicycle or a swing set that is 15 screws short knows a lot about goodwill, love and peace on earth.”

Back then, The MOTH (The Man of the House) didn’t know a Phillips Head Screwdriver from a plate of egg and chips. A toy with ‘assembly required’ filled us both with dread.

Ruff Red (Rowen) was born in 1986 and the family has grown since then. There’s our son-in-law, Tony, daughters-in-law, Katherine and Rebecca, and now four grandchildren – two little girls and two little boys.

I decorate the Christmas tree alone. I’m the only one with the patience to do it slowly and carefully.

“You’re the only one mad enough,” suggests the MOTH.

I’m sorry to say my family is a bunch of tossers. They ‘fling’ tinsel when they should ‘drape’, and totally ignore the back of the tree!

I work slowly. I position three sets of fairy lights well into the branches. Old, delicate, beautiful ornaments hang up high, out of reach of tiny hands. Next, a battalion of coloured balls and delicate ornaments collected over the years, and finally, the stiff, gluey masterpieces made at school on hot December days by our five kids.

I hide the weirder pieces at the back and cover the lot with an avalanche of tinsel. I won’t be satisfied until you can see our tree from outer space.

“What do you think of the tree?” I ask in an embarrassing plea for attention.

“Cool.”

“Needs more tinsel on the left.”

“It’s leaning a bit.”