By Timothy Loftus, Editor & Publisher | Sergeant Bluff Advocate
(SBA) - Christmas time in Iowa, growing up in Sioux City before the age of computers, smartphones, and the internet, is something I remain deeply thankful for. Life moved at a gentler pace then, unhurried and unfiltered, and the world felt smaller in the best possible way. Yes, it could be a frustration to have only three television channels and PBS, but truth be told, there never seemed to be much worth watching anyway, aside from Saturday morning cartoons enjoyed with a bowl of cereal balanced on your knees. Entertainment didn’t come from a screen in your pocket; it came from imagination, from family, and from simply being present.
Holidays, especially Christmas, were always something special in our house. My mom loved Christmas music, and in the weeks leading up to the big day she would place a record on the turntable almost daily. The sound of those records became the soundtrack of December, filling the house with warmth and anticipation. She decorated with care and pride, setting up a huge tree in the living room and placing Christmas decorations throughout the house. Slowly, almost magically, wrapped presents began to appear beneath the branches. Bright paper, colorful bows, and the promise of surprises yet to come. Between the ages of five and seven, I would sit quietly in that living room, bathed in the glow of twinkling lights and rich reds, greens, and golds, listening to those Christmas records and letting my mind wander. I didn’t need much then. Just the lights, the music, and the feeling that something wonderful was on its way.
One of my fondest memories from the late 1960s is piling into the car with the whole family and driving around town to look at Christmas lights. It was an event, something we looked forward to all season. Downtown Sioux City felt especially magical. Yonkers department store windows were a sight to behold, filled with elaborate displays that stopped you in your tracks. And then there was Santa, sitting tall in his big chair, waiting patiently as children shuffled closer. I remember the nervous excitement, fidgeting as my turn approached, knowing I would soon tell him what I wanted for Christmas. Funny enough, I can’t remember a single thing I asked for, but I remember the magic of that moment. The colors, the smells, the feeling of wonder that wrapped itself around you and stayed. The streets downtown were decorated with large light displays, some even stretched overhead, and if we were lucky enough to have snow on the ground, the whole city seemed to glow.
As Christmas Day drew nearer, the house filled with activity. My mom was busy baking cookies and preparing for the family Christmas dinner that followed church. Our home was the gathering place, the center of gravity for the family. Aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents would arrive with dishes in hand, coats dusted with cold air, laughter spilling into every room. The smells alone were unforgettable, the mingling aromas of food being prepared for a feast that felt as important as the day itself. The dining table stretched impossibly long, running from the dining room through the entryway and into the living room. I remember sneaking a sweet pickle or olive from the table while it was being set, only to be told to wait. Waiting, it turned out, was part of the magic.
Then it was time. Christmas dinner. Voices overlapping, laughter echoing, plates passed hand to hand, and every dish tasting better because it was shared. Even now, I’m amazed at how vivid those memories remain. Afterward, everyone helped clean up the culinary carnage, bellies full and hearts content. But the moment I anticipated most was still to come. The family gathered in the living room, and one by one, presents were opened. The sound of tearing paper, the smiles, the laughter, and the simple appreciation for each gift filled the room. By the end, it looked as though Santa’s workshop had been ransacked, wrapping paper and bows scattered everywhere. Life felt good then. Life felt simple. And life was shared with everyone we loved, all in one place.
Now, as I find myself in my sixties and looking ahead to 2026, those traditions are no longer part of my present. My children are grown, building lives of their own in different corners of the country. The world has changed in ways we never could have imagined back then. Christmas arrives now through screens and notifications, and moments that once unfolded slowly are often rushed or distracted. I miss those old traditions deeply, the togetherness, the simplicity, the quiet magic that couldn’t be downloaded or streamed.
Still, I cherish those memories. They have aged well, like an old record that crackles just a bit but plays a song you know by heart. They remind me of a time when wonder came easily, when love was felt in small, ordinary moments, and when Christmas wasn’t something you scrolled past but something you lived, fully and warmly, surrounded by family. And for that, I will always be grateful.
I wish you all a very Merry Christmas!
