When our family moved to town, to Morganton, in the early 1950s, money was scare: rent for the first time, water bills for the first time, so Christmas was scant. My sister and I received little tins filled with sewing items, for example. (Perhaps our mother was trying to prepare us for an adult life of domesticity.) Santa brought the younger sister a black board on an easel, with the alphabet in big letters across the top; a knob allowed us to scroll through examples of writing; we loved that “high tech” methodology. The memory of that black board has lasted through these almost seventy years and all us sisters still find occasion—when discussions become heated and we fear we may say too much—to repeat the imperative final words: The End. Stop Scrolling. I doubt that our parents intended a Christmas lesson in moral rectitude, but we learned that there is a time verbally to simply “stop scrolling.” –Celia Miles
More Christmas Memories are on the way so be on the lookout for them.