With Christmas coming in a few days, I recalled this cartoon I had done while I was in graduate school. I did it on a whim, hence the very rough nature of it.
When we were little, back in Michigan, our house was a two story building where our parents’ bedroom stood at the top of the stairs, while the other bedrooms were down the hall. Our family tradition was that early on Christmas morning, my sister Joan and myself were allowed to go downstairs and get our Christmas stockings and one present to bring back upstairs. Thus, we could entertain ourselves until the rest of the family were actually ready to get up.
Yet, like the eager children that we were, we wanted to go down as soon as we could. However, our parents, by that parental magic the elders possess, would catch us trying to sneak down the stairs. “It’s not Christmas yet!”
So, Joan and I would sit at the top of the stairs, waiting. And every so often I would ask “Is it Christmas yet?”
The details are clear from memory. Our father was our hairdresser at this point, giving us a very standard page-boy cut. Our pajamas were very comfortable fleece ones, mine having a floral pattern all over them like popcorn, while Joan’s were striped. One Christmas at least, she fell asleep against me as we waited for the word that it was finally Christmas. Even the bit about curling my big toe over the edge of the step is something I remember from sitting there.
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