My oldest solid memories are of Christmas 1952. I would have been still four months short of my third birthday. Before then linger a very few disjointed images. But I definitely remember that Christmas, when we had newly moved into our house in the Lake Forest subdivision of Naples. No furniture yet; the tree stood in a bare room and we came over from the motor court where we were staying to open our presents. I remember pushing my new truck around on the unobstructed floors.
Not sure where we ate Christmas dinner. That memory is not with me. Yet it was my ‘first’ Christmas, the first I can remember, the first I was old enough to know something was going on! Now, every Christmas has the increasing potential to be my last. I don’t do much on the day. A little porcelain tree is lit up on my desk. I might or might not have a pizza. Most of the Christmases past have faded — but I remember that one.
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