Christmas Presence

/ Ann Coleman

One of my earliest Christmas memories is of sitting at the kitchen table with my father, working together to make “shadow box” nativity scene.  Shadow boxes were popular at the time, and as far as I can remember, they consisted of a box that housed knick-knacks or scenes in a decorative wooden box covered with glass to protect the contents.  Since I was about five years old at the time, we were making our shadow box out of a cardboard shoe box.

We had gone out into the back yard to cut some dormant, yellowed zoysia grass, which we glued on the bottom of the box to represent straw.  We glued strips of brown construction paper to the walls for the stable beams, and added a blue square window complete with gold star stickers on the back wall. Then we glued down the ceramic figures of Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus in the manger, with a little plastic angel standing guard.  Finally, we taped on clear plastic wrap to cover the whole front of the box.  I thought it was absolutely beautiful.

Our family didn’t have a lot of money when I was growing up, but we always got a nice pile of presents for Christmas, and almost always got the gift we wanted the most of all (not counting the Shetland pony I was always secretly hoping for).  But as much as I looked forward to unwrapping my presents on Christmas morning, as happy as I was with the presents I received, I have forgotten almost all of them by now.  Sometimes my memory is helped by looking at an old photo and thinking, “Oh, that was the year I got the Chatty Cathy doll,” but I can’t remember that on my own, or even a few days after I look at the photo.

What I do remember, easily and clearly, is sitting at the kitchen table with my father, working together to make that cardboard shadow box.  I remember how special it made me feel that he was taking the time to teach me how to make something beautiful out of some dried-out grass, construction paper, ceramic figures and a cardboard shoe box.

IMG_0938I have no idea how long that cardboard shadow box actually lasted…our household had lots of rambunctious kids, so the chances are, it didn’t last very long…but I still have the figurines of Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus and the angel.  And even though they are old and chipped, I still put them out every year, to remind me that the best Christmas gifts aren’t the ones we put under the tree.

31 thoughts on “Christmas Presence”

  6. Great story, Ann. My favorite decorations are the ones that belonged to my parents’ or grandparents’ before they were mine. Each piece has a story, just like your figurines.

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  10. What a beautiful memory and reminder that some of the best things in our lives were these special moments with our parents that we didn’t fully appreciate at the time but do now. I hope I have given my children, now grown, a similar memory that they one day will recall with the same fondness you’ve described ad expressed in your post.

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  11. What a lovely memory! I think that I may have some very similar figures. My memory is that my mother gave me a small plastic nativity set when I was 4 or 5. I can remember arranging and re-arranging the figures as I “helped” decorate for Christmas. I think that she gave it to me so that I would have my own Christmas decorations and not accidentally break her ornaments. .

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    • It’s from the early 1950s, although the angel is the only plastic piece, so it may not be part of the original set. I’ve seen some very similar nativity scenes in antique stores. And it sounds as if your mother was a very wise woman!

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  13. Making a shadow box with your father sounds like exactly the kind of thing that Christmas really should be about. Toys and games are fine, but there really is so much more to the season than just getting stuff. That’s the least important part of it.

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  14. You always seem to get to the “heart” of the matter and eloquently describe what’s most important in life. Your words about not remembering the gifts you wanted as a child but still holding onto the memories you made are beautiful and so true. Great post, Ann.

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