The Holidays At The Mall

Do you remember the way it used to be on the holidays at the Mall? Festive…it really felt like Christmas. It doesn’t feel that way anymore. Perhaps it is where we are in life. We’re not kids anymore with the innocence of a child. That was the real beauty of being a kid. We really didn’t know the world was going around. 

When I was a kid growing up in suburban Washington/Baltimore, I had my favorite haunts. I suppose you did too. We had Parole Plaza ten miles to the East in Annapolis just off U.S. Route 50 known as the John Hanson Highway. Some called this stretch of pavement the Washington-Annapolis Expressway. We’d get off 50 and cruise along West Street to Parole Plaza. 

Parole Plaza wasn’t a shopping mall, but instead an old-fashioned shopping center with an open-air mall. It was cold with the crisp holiday aroma of woodsmoke in the air and a chilly breeze across our faces. We didn’t care it was raining or snowing. Our cheeks shown a bright red from the cold. It felt good to walk in from the cold into the warmth of SEARS at the holidays.

SEARS was my most favorite place in the whole world. It remains my greatest Christmas memory. You’d enter the store and be greeted with the smell of popcorn and the euphoric demeanor of holiday lights, Christmas trees all aglow, Burl Ives on a SEARS Silvertone stereo console display model with an LP on the turntable, the huge rush of the toy department, and a host of other Christmastime nuances that remind us of our Christmas past.

Department stores were the places dreams were made of. Chances are our parents could not afford the elaborate gifts we wanted which meant Christmas morning would probably yield disappointment. I wanted a new Whirlybird helicopter for my fifth Christmas. I had my heart set on it yet not one store had one. Although it was something I wanted badly, my disappointment vanished amid the treasure trove of other Christmas gifts Santa brought. 

These days, the thrill of Christmas has changed from what was in it for us to the excitement of watching our grandbabies march down the stairs and into the living room, which helps us relive the thrill of being children wondering how Santa came down the chimney we didn’t have.