It’s funny how I find that many of my warmest childhood memories of the holidays actually took place in the family car.  If asked what my family does at Christmastime, I would say that we would go to evening mass on Christmas Eve, and now that I think of it, it was always sleeting, because my Mom and I always wore heels on Christmas Eve, and it was my dad’s job to keep us from wiping out on the ice between the car and the church.  After mass, we would drive to Big Boy for dinner, we always intended on going somewhere else, but always wound up at Big Boy, where my parents would inevitably reminisce about the days when Big Boy was a drive in restaurant, complete with waitresses on roller skates, and how the modern sit down version where everything goes on a credit card just doesn’t compare.  This, I suppose was their version of a holiday memory in the car…

After dinner, we would take the long drive to my grandparents’ house to visit with them until late.  There were never any gifts; no credit card Christmases, that was not the point.  We just got to visit with Grandma and Grandpa, and that was good enough for us.  The drive would take over an hour, and my brother and I would look for holiday light displays out the window on the way.  This was long before the days when all were in competition for the largest light display.  It was a treat to see a house with Christmas lights on it, and my brother and I would excitedly shout out to each other as we drove by, to be sure neither of us missed this rare treat.  There seemed to never be anything we wanted to listen to on the radio on this trip.  Seems odd to me now, but at the time, it was expected, as it seemed to be part of the tradition of the Christmas Eve Road trip.  Usually found a Christian radio station retelling the original Christmas story as we drove through the snow.  We always made sure to leave Grandma and Grandpa’s before midnight, as my brother and I were sure Santa would not arrive if we weren’t at home and asleep by then.

The ride home was always a bit quieter than the ride to Grandma’s.  My brother usually fell asleep, and I laid on the back seat and watched the streetlights go by in the rear window above me.  There’s something about the atmosphere of that drive home and the rhythm of the street lights above that makes me think of Christmas and Grandma’s house.  The memories would not be the same without the car ride with the family.