Dec 14, 2018 4 min read

One of my proudest days of elementary school had nothing to do with grades or my school work. That day was the morning I carried a hand-crafted Christmas tree through the door of my second-grade classroom and presented it to my teacher.

The years have stripped away some of the details, but the tree was about a foot tall, and was made of styrofoam or some such, and was sprinkled with glitter. The gift was the handiwork of my Aunt Helen, my grandmother’s sister, a woman known for making and baking things.

Because she didn’t have children, she poured all that creativity onto my sisters and me. A visit to her house meant there would be cookies in the kitchen and, down in the basement, crafting stuff. I’m picturing a table strewn with wire and glue and foily things, little plastic vials of glitter and tiny silver beads. The three of us loved to go there.

I want to be an Aunt Helen. Now that my sister is a grandmother, I am in position to take over the role in the family. Although I’m not much of a baker, I can manage well enough at the oven. And the crafting part? I’ve got that. You should see my basement. My scrapbooking stuff alone would keep second-grade teachers in handmade cards and doo-dads forever.

To my nieces and nephews, I am Aunt Bee. One of them started calling me that way back when, and it stuck. The name alone has positioned me to assume the mantle of Aunt Helen. Both names have that dear-old-lady-in-the-country-kitchen feel. But how to begin?

I would begin with my great-niece, who is almost 3. With bouncy curls past her waist and a personality to match, she’s one of those children who’s up for anything.

The new tradition began when I visited last summer. I’d spent forever in the dollar store on my way over, looking for the right bits and pieces to make something. I cobbled together some sheets of foam, markers, glue and smiley stickers. I wasn’t sure what all of that would add up to, but we would be glueing and sticking and coloring things. It was a start.

“I brought crafts!” I said when the little one met me at the door. I might as well have said “Puppies!” That dear child clasped her hands at her chest and yelled “Oooooooh!”

We created – what would you call it? Mostly sheets of foam with stickers all over them. She was so proud. By the time we were finished, the living room was festooned with stickers.

We did crafts again when I visited after her baby brother was born, and again at Thanksgiving, when we decorated a flat, plastic Christmas tree; the star somehow landed near the bottom branches. She showed it to her mom as if it were an Oscar statuette.

I’ve told her when she’s 4, she can come for a sleepover and we’ll do crafts all day.

Just like I’d done with Aunt Helen. I remember her as tall, with bright red lipstick and hair always fixed into tight curls. She always smelled like Christmas – probably the mixture of flowery perfume and baking cinnamon. She had a high, squeaky voice. I still can hear her say, “I’m making a little tree for you to take to your teacher.”

The whole class was watching as I walked into second grade with that tree. I presented it to the teacher, holding it as if it were an Oscar.

Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.