Features and Series

Posted in: Features and Series
The Sketcher
By Laura Timm
Dec 25, 2008 - 8:46:21 PM

There are rituals that, as unconventional and sometimes silly as they may be, connect the years of Christmas long ago, not so long ago, and Christmas present for our family and perhaps for yours. Strangely, it’s that little red art sketching toy (that works by moving two knobs and removing silver stuff to create a picture) which has become the unlikely symbol of happy holiday memories for me. I’ll call it ‘the sketcher’.

Though time won’t stand still and people cannot stay on this Earth any longer than they are meant to, some memories, when we close our eyes, feel the atmosphere, smell the smells and hear the sounds, still surround us and are as real as the chair beneath us.

Falling into ritual habits, and watching others do the same, can alter our perception of time. Although yearly visits to each other can be numbered on one hand, after hugs are given and bags are set down and despite efforts to the contrary, we all seem to fall into our familiar places. Grown siblings become young again.

The oldest will always and forever be the oldest. Even if he or she has forgotten the power in that, it will soon come back (for better or worse). The middle is still, perhaps, in the decision making position, carefully weighing the options and the youngest stills scraps for the attention and affection of the older ones, even if he or she won’t admit it.

Grown and even aging siblings, at the right moment, revert to a certain time, a certain place and a shared reality of long ago. If other families are like mine, it won’t be long before a familiar slapstick scene of old habits, old jokes and mild trickery plays out.

A window in time suddenly opens for the younger generations; a squint of the eyes, or a tilt of the head reveals a glimpse of what these aunts and uncles must have looked like on Christmas mornings or any other morning so many years ago.

For years, my father and our family traveled to visit relatives during the holidays. Along with his brother and sister, we gathered at my grandparents’ humble home. Over the years and through the changes, the gatherings were moved, first to my grandmother’s apartment and now, to my oldest uncle’s home.

The shenanigans always did and always will come sooner or later with these three (my father, aunt and uncle) and these days, the scene unfolds with their own grown kids and grandkids watching. Somebody may roll their eyes or say “Here we go,” but I honestly believe that most, if not all, would be disappointed if the verbal slapstick didn’t play out each year. In fact, some of us even look forward to the goofiness of it all. It seems, each year, to signal a permission to be goofy (I could use a little of that this year).

I remember one year at Grandma’s, as Christmas Day progressed, one of her grown children picked up the sketcher and fiddled with it for some time. When a sibling inquired about the work in progress the artist informed the other two that they were not allowed to see it until the work was finished. Any sibling, child or adult, knows that the phrase, “You can’t see it,” when spoken by another sibling, may just mean ‘War’, especially when it involves a toy and especially for three intellectually and artistically competitive siblings such as these.

After some time passed, the clever sibling with first dibs revealed a pain-staking complex work of squiggle art. The other two gave some oohs and ahs and the middle one pretended to erase it, then laughed. He didn’t erase it though. Studying it proved an irresistible temptation, so he added to it.

He held the coveted object in his possession for some time and worked with a determined expression until, finally, he said, “There.” He handed it back to the original artist who complimented the additions. Inevitably, the toy was given to the last sibling for final updates and improvements. When it was finished, we were all given permission to see the masterpiece on the sketcher.

The finished product was a work created by the three siblings. A masterpiece, of sorts, which could only have come from those three minds, formed by and within the same household, under the same parents, in a time that was as impossible for me to know as it was real for all of them to tap into.

The next year they did it again. Though there may have been some, I don’t remember a Christmas since then that the three have not created their collective, spontaneous masterpiece on the sketcher. I only wish that someone had taken a picture each year, of the finished work of art.

It doesn’t really matter though; it’s the ritual that plays in the memory. I’ve got three children of my own now, a boy and two girls. The girls are actually adults so we’ve had plenty of years to form our own family rituals and the three have developed their own brand of sibling goofiness.

We also have our own sketcher, somewhere. I’m thinking it’s about time to dig that little red art machine out again. Perhaps a few masterpieces of a more recent time and place will be created and a ritual, silly as it may be, will live on to be enjoyed by future generations.

© Copyright 2008 by The East Iowa Herald