My parents house did not have a fireplace to enjoy during the winter months, but we had a cardboard Christmas decoration that served as a pleasant substitute and gave me some favorite childhood memories.
My parents purchased the sizable cardboard fireplace in the early 1970s, when I was still in elementary school. The decorative item looked like a real fireplace and included a mantle and a vertical section that resembled a chimney. The firebox contained a display of cardboard logs and a small light fixture and bulb that was set behind the logs. The fixture was topped by a thin, perforated piece of sheet metal that rotated over the light bulb, casting alternating shadows on the walls of the firebox, which were suppose to simulate dancing flames.
My parents displayed the fireplace diagonally in the corner of the small room where we also displayed our Christmas tree, a fresh-cut natural one, not the artificial variety. The artificial fireplace sat opposite the real tree.
I discovered late one Sunday afternoon when I was in the fourth grade that I could easily step behind and fireplace and comfortably sit behind the firebox. I was raised in a house with two adults, seven siblings, a few cats and a dog. There was little in the way of privacy at any time with so many people in the immediate area, so the cozy little space was special to me.
The fireplace was part of our seasonal decorations and was stored in the attic in January, along with Christmas lights, extension cords, artificial wreaths and decorations for the tree. But from early December until the first full weekend in January it was on display, and I spent many early evenings behind the firebox. I often took a flashlight with me and read books in the small space. Mostly I just sat and watched the room.
I was sitting behind the fireplace one evening when my mom entered the room. She adjusted a few of the ornaments on the Christmas tree and then turned and stood staring at the fireplace, watching the light in the firebox throw shadows. Mom stood motionless for several minutes, not shifting her gaze. I remember feeling bad for not alerting her to my presence.
It was a rare moment. I understood that much. It is one I remember with perfect clarity. I remember wondering what was she thinking about in that quiet moment. What was on her mind?
I have thought about that moment a lot over the years. I have never asked mom about that moment. In all likelihood she doesn't remember it and would probably respond with something along the lines of, "I was asking God for patience and self control so that I would not harm one of my children." That's the sort of humor she has.
I can only imagine what she pondered in the silence of the moment, and over the years have considered the many possibilities. Was she thinking of a far off place? Was she wondering what her life might have been like if she had not married my father and started a family? Was she thinking a simple prayer of thanks for life as it was? Or was she simply enjoying a quiet moment?
A few short years later, much would change for my family. My brother Tim was killed in a car accident in 1973 and our lives, and our Christmas celebrations were forever different.
The cardboard fireplace reached the end of its useful life in the late 1970s and was unceremoniously discarded.
It remains in my memories, a reminder of a quiet place during the Christmas season.
- Thank you for reading. Please email comments to kbotterman@gmail.com.
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