How Aunt Francis Saved Christmas

Do you remember THE Christmas, the one year when Santa really got it right? For me, it wasn't the jolly Saint himself, but my Aunt Francis who takes top billing. It was 1963, the winter of fourth grade and the Queen of all dolls, Barbie, was five years into her reign.

The previous Christmas, the Leonard's department store Santa was surely deaf in his left ear, the one I whispered shyly into of my heart's desire: a blonde Barbie and a Ken doll, please. After that year, I would no longer believe in the mystery of a benevolent old man in a red velvet suit, although it wasn't totally because of his poor performance on December 24th. Santa came to our house on Christmas Eve. We always just missed his appearance after our return from an hour's drive around the countryside, necks sore from peering up from the car's back seat into the starry night sky, searching hard to spy a reindeer-powered sleigh with my dad and my grandfather as the customary spotters. That Christmas, Santa really disappointed me. No Barbie and Ken, but instead, a couple of bad knock-offs. My mom was attempting a great performance in convincing me that Annette and Andy were exactly what all the little girls had been asking for. Nice try, Joyce. (In retrospect, I do understand that Barbie and Ken were twice as expensive as Annette and Andy, and that money was likely pretty tight for my parents. Anyway, the swap probably also ensured that my brother could get the requested pogo stick and the Daisy BB Gun - the fat old elf managed to get those items right without any problem.)

On the memorable Christmas Eve of 1963, my dad's only sister, Francis, had a twinkle in her eye all afternoon. Because my brother lied and told everyone he still believed in Santa (just covering his bases more likely), the traditional ride looking for him in the night sky was re-enacted one more time. As I recall, my presents included a small electric chord organ, which I did enjoy and play with for a long time. Piano lessons were practiced daily across the street at the Baptist church courtesy of the preacher's wife and now I had my own keyboard at home. But, my gift from Aunt Francis was the best surprise - a real honest-to-goodness Barbie with a round hat-box case, shiny black and emblazoned with the cute side image of the pony-tailed Mattel jeune dame. This was so unexpected, which made the gift all the more cherished. Barbie had undergone a change - she now had a bubblecut short hairdo, smoothly tanned body, and blue eyeshadow permanently painted across her eyes, giving her an exotic Egyptian/Californian look. Aunt Francis had gone whole-hog (she spoiled my brother and I shamelessly) and included four wonderful outfits in her already perfect gift. Many of the fashions Barbie wore were real designer originals. My Barbie glittered and sparkled, decked out in a pink satin skirt and bolero jacket that Mattel dubbed "Satin 'N Roses". The inspiration for the doll's wardrobe in 1963 had been Jackie Kennedy, who sadly was a widow that December.

Last night I pulled down my tattered but very treasured black Barbie case from the upper shelf of my closet. Inside, Barbie and Andy were nestled together, commiting unspoken adultry all these years - I never got a Ken doll. Soon after Barbie's arrival, Annette was first given a dull-scissored haircut, then beheaded and shortly thereafter tossed aside. A few of the store-bought clothes remain intact, as does a particularly seductive black sheath evening gown with tiny pearls stitched into a flower pattern at the waist, hand-sewn by the aforementioned Baptist preacher's wife. The Satin 'N Roses ensemble is still among my collection, although it now has a watery brown stain across the jacket sleeve and down one side of the skirt. Avon used to bottle samples of their perfumes in tiny plastic-stoppered vials which were prone to leak. Such a disaster befell the satin suit. Many years ago, it came to me that it resembled the pink suit that Jackie wore on November 22, 1963 when her husband, President Kennedy, was assassinated. Like the minature toy replica, it too, was forever stained not only with the blood of her husband, but with a nation's horror and irrevocable loss of innocence.