O, Christmas Three
“It was always a tradition in my family to have a real tree. Keeping that tradition in my first apartment in the Rogers Park area of Chicago, I gathered my friends and off we went to select the tree. Safely tied down to the top of the car, I drove the two or three miles back to my apartment and went to unload it. Imagine my horror when there was no tree! Apparently, it was not tied down as securely as I thought. So, off I went back to the lot to get another tree. This one made it and actually got decorated. I just hope whoever picked up the lost one was a needy family. So how did I get three trees? The day after Christmas I promptly went out and bought my first artificial tree.”
Nancy Cihlar
Sun City resident
Granny Santa
Yearly, my young family of two sons and one daughter enjoyed their Christmas Eve ritual of traveling in the family car through the Kildeer/Long Grove woods (near their home) while looking to the star-studded skies in search of Santa and his reindeer. Aiding in the scenario were Grandpa Habes, my Dad, and Dad Koplos, and my husband, driving our auto. Meanwhile, Grandma Habes and myself were preparing for my mom’s entrance of “Santa’s Big Visit to Our Home!”
The caper had begun in 1978 when Jim, our oldest son, was 7 years old and Kristi, our only daughter, was 4 years old. But this particular Christmas Eve of 1985 proved to be a very special one!
With only a few minutes to spare, I helped the children’s beloved and unselfish Granny (known for her endless baby-sitting stints and delicious baking talents) into her still mint-condition, authentic, red velvet suit, cap, and, of course, sparkling white beard, framing my Mom’s twinkling eyes. Once again, as each child had gained another year in age, the older children continued the Christmas farce for the delight of the younger unsuspecting siblings. This year was to be no different except for the presence now of our wide-eyed and extremely curious younger son, 7-year-old Bill. Aided by his older brother and sister, the threesome screamed with glees as they entered the family room! For standing in front of the fireplace, indeed, was a “Jolly old elf laden with presents from the North Pole.”
(Photo provided from Joanie Koplos)
Sadly, this was to be the final year of Granny’s performance of holiday magic for the Koplos children, though for some time, she continued her Christmas visits to the grandchildren’s schools. But now as Granny Santa uttered her authentic “Ho, Ho, Ho!” Billy’s inquisitive eyes, searching Santa’s personage, noticed the rosy-cheeked visitor’s boots bearing a remarkable resemblance to his grandma’s shoes. Then the young tyke located Santa’s wrist where the holiday visitor seemed to be wearing an identical bracelet to that worn by his grandmother. Though Jim and Kristi assured their younger sibling that these two observances were only coincidences, I knew then that Grandma Habes had performed her encore Koplos Christmas Eve performance.
The memories of those eight “VERY SPECIAL CHRISTMAS EVES” will linger throughout the years for all of my three now grown-up children and my husband and me.
More importantly, it seems that Marcella Johnson Habes’ own life will always be associated and intertwined with the holiday Season. For, you see, Mother and Grandmother Extraordinaire performed her final living breath on December 24, 2007. This kindest of all grandmothers had said “Her Very Last Farewell” to her family and friends when she departed from this world on that year’s Christmas Eve.
Joanie Koplos
Sun City resident
A trip to see Santa can really get your goat
When our daughter Jenny was three or four years old, we took her to Woodfield Mall to meet Santa. She was nervous, but standing in the long, winding line helped her to gather her courage and gave her time to rehearse saying the list of all the presents she hoped Santa would bring her.
The big moment came, and she climbed up onto his lap and recited the list flawlessly. When she was finished, we took her hand and started walking out past the long line, breathing a sigh of relief that all had gone well and without tears.
But before we had walked fifty feet or so, Jenny screeched to a halt. “Wait,” she said, “I forgot something!”
“Well, we can’t go back,” we told her. “Santa’s busy. All these other children have been waiting their turn.”
Undaunted, she turned and shouted, “Santa! When you come, I’ll put out some milk and cookies for you and your goats!”
A hundred heads spun around to see what kind of un-American parents would tell a child that Santa’s sleigh was pulled by goats.
“I swear, we told her they were reindeer,” I pleaded to the crowd, but they looked unconvinced.
After that episode, we thought it best to avoid the mall altogether at Christmas time in future years. We told Jenny that the best way to reach Santa was to write her wish list on a piece of paper and hand it to us. We would read it together, then we would burn it in the fireplace. The smoke and ashes would go up the chimney all the way to the North Pole, where it would turn back into a paper list in Santa’s mailbox.
That is, unless his goats ate it first.
TR Kerth
Sun City resident
“Baby,” it’s cold outside
My most memorable Christmas was the year my second child was born (12/14/77). My son, who is now soon to be 39, was scheduled to arrive around Thanksgiving; however, he had a different idea.
Since I am from out of state (PA), my parents drove from Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving and took my first child (my daughter who was almost 3) back to Pennsylvania so my husband could continue to work while I was in the hospital with the baby. Weeks went by and still no labor pains or baby. Now my parents were concerned since my daughter was crying to go home to see Mommy and Daddy. So, they made plans to drive back to Illinois to bring my daughter home and I decided that although it may be a little early, we should celebrate Christmas with them while they were here. I cleaned and decorated the house, then started baking dozens of different types of cookies. While working in the kitchen late into the evening, my husband smelled something burning and it wasn’t the cookies – no, the angel on the top of our Christmas tree was in flames. Luckily, my husband caught it before a lot of damage was done. My attention now turned to getting the baking done. I worked late that evening and started again the next morning to finish the baking off. My parents had already started on their 10 hour drive to bring my daughter back home and I was very excited – my husband and I really had be missing her too.
Around 2 p.m., while I was still covered with sugar and flour, I started to feel ill. I had cookies in the oven and lots still to do before my parents and daughter arrived, so I forged on trying to shake the nauseous feeling. Another hour passed and I thought maybe I was hungry, so I had a glass of milk – then the labor pains started to kick in. I waited until the last of cookies were out of the oven and then thought I better call my husband home from work – it was already close to 4 p.m. He did not work very far from home and I wanted to try to get a shower and wash my hair before leaving for the hospital. He appeared at the door before I had the opportunity to get into the shower so I tried to convince him to help me wash my hair, but being an anxious father, he refused and pushed me out the door, grabbing my suitcase and we headed for the hospital. Luckily, traffic wasn’t too bad, but my labor pains not were.
Once arriving at the hospital, and getting wheeled back to a labor room, the nurse casually checked me and told my husband it would be a little while yet. To his surprise, the moment she left the room, my water broke and the baby was on the way. Frantically, the nurse were yelling at me while wheeling me into the delivery room telling me that my doctor was not at the hospital and not to push. Were they crazy – I couldn’t do anything but push. Once in the delivery room, the nurse told a young intern that he was going to have to deliver the baby and he started arguing with her saying he didn’t think he could do that – finally, she told him you have to do it, and he did. We had a beautiful 8 pound baby boy. I was relieved.
The intern did a good job catching the baby – he came so fast. He did the internal checkup, which was painful, and then backed me until my doctor arrived – then my doctor decided to repeat the checkup, again very painful, and by the time I was wheeled out of the delivery room, I was in tears. My husband didn’t know what to think. All turned out well in the end but what a Christmas we had that year.
Janet Schipma
Sun City resident
