A little girl named Chicky and the magic of Christmas

One of my first memories of our 2 Flat located at 1627 N. Richmond involved the 1st floor and the first time we lived on that floor, I remembering waking and seeing a cold gray blue painted wall, I remember being cold. I didn't care for that flat. Where I was happy and remembered many good times of early childhood was when we moved up to the 2nd floor, it had warmth, and many good times to it. No doubts for me that was where my happiest childhood years would be spent with my brothers. In a time of westerns, I was a cowgirl, no shirt-just a Diaper, Cowboy hat & two guns in my holster shared by one brother or the other. Great keepsake pic:) My earliest memories of Christmas morning involved the 5 of us being together or some times Dad slept in a few minutes longer, mom would let us snoop around the tree and look for one present the package that we thought we'd treasure the most, I believe I knew how to spell Santa before I could spell Chicky, and Chicky was my name in those days......you had to do something real bad to hear the future Proverbial "Kathleen", so Chicky was with Bobby & Frannie on Christmas morning, they would become Rob & Frank eventually and I their sister would most days be Kathy, but for now we were the other earlier version of Chicky ,Frannie, and Bobby. When Dad got up we dressed for Christmas Mass, and went to Mass, it was an overwhelming place with a large crowd of people, a parking space was hard to come by so Dad would drop us off, find a space and meet up with us, I loved the Christmas Hymms, I loved the little baby in the manger up front, I just didn't care for the smells of all the people (holiday smell later to be known as leftover-next day alcohol reek), on ocassion I'd get into trouble shortly after arriving, mesmerize by a woman in front of us who had a FOX looking off of her shoulder, as she sat back I'd try to pet it, Church does not prevent you from being whacked and told to sit (not unlike a dog-she laughs). The best part of church was baby Jesus, they told of his parents journey, they told of an inn that had no space, they told of his birth in a stable with wise me, friendly animals, and a beautiful big star in the night. It was a beautiful story, and I would not learn of King Herod's slaughter of little babies town by town until much later. That would be my first conscious thought of some tragic, my 2nd biggest impression would be the story of holy thursday, what was shaping for Jesus, and trying to reason out why Judas would betray him for money, and why no one intervened, but all that would take place when I six. Then homeward bound to 1 present and dinner, and after dinner we could open all the presents which had mysteriously come to be under our Christmas Tree on Christmas morning. It would not be until years later I would realize how very tired my folks were each Christmas Morning, 2 genie's up all night trying to magically work at putting toys together, wrapping, and sometimes putting up an entire tree in one short night, whereby they had to pray hard that the children would remain sleeping. The fun I had with my brother's who would appropriately ooo and ahhh over my little toys, and then graciously let me try a new cowboy gun, or play with army men, and try on a new baseball mitt. There never comes a Christmas that my mind doesn't wander off to some special moment we all shared together, and with Ma and Dad long gone together, now side by side, I appreciate all they tried to do, I appreciate all the hardships they endured to keep us all together, making us stronger for our own families. Family really is in large part, the spirit of Christmas, and Baby Jesus a thank you to you too, whether real or invented, you taught me much, and my love for children has always stayed strong I do believe because of you.