“Christmas” is possibly the most loaded word in our English language. No other term stirs up so many emotions. Furthermore, we cannot escape its presence, for at this time of year we are inundated with Christmas. Frankly, I’m thinking it’s a good thing. No complaints here.

Memories of Christmas are often our earliest childhood remembrances. Like who, for example, can forget their unskillful kindergarten fingers poking whole cloves into oranges (a room freshener) as a gift for Mom?

Such reminiscing brings on a yearning for those long past times. What would it be like if we could be transplanted back to our childhoods, to that very special tingly time when the magic of Christmas utterly took over our lives … and our very souls?

Do you recall the excitement when the calendar page finally flipped over to December and we kids suddenly shifted from our regular rascally selves into well behaved children? Even the most mischievous of us had a change of attitude. How awkward and strained it was to be bogusly good for twenty-five long days. It was downright exhausting because, let’s face it we simply weren’t all that good at being all that good.

The fact is that the level of our good behavior was tied directly to the size of our Christmas wishes. For instance, we were especially charming and compliant if we desired something as colossal as a bicycle or a doll with a wardrobe. A pony, on the other hand, required a seismic shift in obedience beginning as early as October.

But, honestly, was there any better gift than a crisp new coloring book? And if it came with a box of brand new Crayola crayons, well, life didn’t get much better. Every single crayon had a sharp point on it! Now, that’s where awesome got its name! And if you had been a truly model child, Santa brought you the ultimate: the big Crayola box with tiers of crayons in every color that God ever created. The glory of it bowled you over.

Every year Santa brought my siblings and me a huge tub of Lincoln Logs, as well as a tall cylindrical can of Tinker Toys. Remember all those little cardboard Tinker Toy flags and how quickly they became raggedy and rough-edged and would no longer slide into the slots? I spent hours building with those toys, although I do remember the Erector Set as being too high tech. (Seems pitiful now, huh?)

Do you recall the first Christmas you became generous, the first time you seriously thought about others over yourself? I’m talking about when you actually figured out it wasn’t all about you? (What? You mean to tell me Christmas is about other people, too?)

I clearly recall when that happened to me. The year was 1945. My brother Neil (6) and I (7) went by ourselves to Austin’s ultimate holiday shopping headquarters: Woolworths Five and Dime. We were on a quest to find gifts for our mother. To our delight we discovered within its burgeoning walls a host of reasonably priced altruistic possibilities. The splendor was staggering!

We diligently combed the aisles scrutinizing those riches. What would Mom absolutely love? This was the first time we’d ever gone shopping on our own. It was also when doing so on our own was not a worry. And, we were spending our own money! The dedication to the mission was monumental.

After an hour of examining each possibility — and rejecting them all — we unexpectedly found ourselves at the back of the store, an area in which we had never before dared to enter. We were startled. This was grownup territory — scary, foreign and completely unknown to us.

We had just entered the hallowed Woolworth Five and Dime Fine China Department! The glamour of it hit us like lightning bolts as the fluorescent lights glinted off the surfaces of the gleaming glassware. Wow! What marketing geniuses those Woolworth managers were with all those enticing sparkly lights, their ploy working perfectly on us. We were awed — and a little unnerved — by the grandeur.

Neil and I looked at each other and in that moment knew we had hit gold. Such refinement was exactly what our discerning Mom deserved. There’d be no clove pierced oranges this year!

Now, you should know that our mom had a truly refined sense of style. In our home one could see the influence of the discriminating Daytons at every turn of the head. And when it came to Christmas, Mom’s holiday table was a vision of loveliness with her French Haviland china and sterling silver flatware. But, I can tell you now, that even the most dunderheaded kid could recognize that virtually anything in the Woolworth’s Five and Dime Fine China Department would enhance Mom’s décor. My heart began thumping … as I knew hers soon would be, too.

I can still feel the emotions of that event. My head was spinning over the glamorous possibilities! For the next forty-five minutes I agonized back and forth. This piece … or that piece? How about that one?

And then my eyes fell upon it. In a heartbeat my decision was made. A set of salt and pepper shakers! Oh, m’gosh, they’d go perfectly with Mom’s cut glass crystal shakers with the sterling silver caps. I just knew it. There was no doubt these beauties would even out-dazzle Mom’s. Wow! She’s gonna’ flip!

The salt and pepper shakers were one-and-a-half inches tall and two-inches long — and here comes the glamorous part — they were in the shape of birds! Now don’t get all fancy on me and picture detailed sculpted birds. Contrarily these crude likenesses of sparrows gave every indication of having been created by clumsy hands using the thick glass bottoms of milk bottles. Sturdy! But, hold on! Here comes the good part. On the top of each dinky bird’s head was a tiny screw-on cap. And … thump, thump … those little caps were made with exquisite, easily recognized refinement. Red plastic! The artistry left me reeling.

In the meantime, Neil had wandered over to the Woolworth Five and Dime Fine Arts Department. With undue diligence he was eyeing the sculptures. Spread out before his unbelieving eyes were works of art of such magnitude he was nearly blown away. Which one would Mom love beyond all the others? As the drama of his decision spiraled, the Woolworth Five and Dime air around him turned brittle with anticipation.

And then he did it. He reached over and made his selection. Both of our hearts nearly stopped beating. There in his hands was a perfect six-inch plaster of Paris (did you get that … Paris!) replica of a deer’s head! Mom was going to be stupefied!

We were so tingly with excitement, we could barely contain ourselves as the Woolworth Five and Dime clerk wrapped our purchases in tissue paper. (Tissue paper!!) Any onlookers would have recognized we’d both just crossed over into adulthood.

We walked home (one mile through the snow) jabbering all the way, barely able to contain our excitement. Once there, we wrapped our gifts and very carefully placed them under the tree, both in conspicuous spots. Then the wait began. The torture of it was, well, torture!

Christmas morning finally came. Neil and I were barely breathing as we handed our gifts to Mom. She opened mine first. It took only a second to tell from the stunned look on her face that she adored the birdy salt and pepper shakers. Success!

Then it was Neil’s turn. If excitement could be cut with a knife, he was slicing off big chunks of it. Mom slowly unfolded the tissue paper until at last the gift revealed itself. Astonishment erupted from Mom’s dumfounded expression as she sat there mute. That was all Neil needed. His gift had left her speechless!

But, there was more! Six-year-old Neil announced there was only one place on this earth that this charming, winsome plaster of Paris deer head should be hung … over Mom’s bed!

Now, I should explain that this bed was in the bedroom that Mom had recently redecorated with beautiful floral wallpaper and matching twin bedspreads. A designer’s dream and a room as far from including a bodiless woodland creature as one could get.

What we were thinking? In the end, the avian salt and pepper shakers went into the breakfast nook cupboard, and as for Neil’s deer head, it eventually faded into the sunset — the perfect place for a Woolworth Five and Dime six-inch plaster of Paris deer head.

To this day they remain just two more of life’s imponderables.

May Christmas also leave you thunderstruck in the best of ways. Happy Holidays!

Peggy Keener of Austin is the author of two books: “Potato In A Rice Bowl” and “Wondahful Mammaries.” Peggy Keener invites readers to share their memories with her by emailing pggyknr@yahoo.com. Memories shared with Keener may be shared or referenced in subsequent editions of “Full Circle.”