Christmas in Florida—1969

Arriving in Florida for the first time, ready to enjoy a green Christmas.

When our Grandma and Grandpa Heller retired, they announced to the family, “We’re going to become gypsies!”* They bought themselves a 26-foot Airstream trailer, hitched it to their Ford LTD, and started traveling all over the country to rallies sponsored by the Airstream Club of America. In late 1969, they announced that they would spend the winter in Ruskin, Florida, living in their Airstream. Our family was sent into a bit of a tailspin. It was unclear how much of an impact their decision would have on our usual Christmas plans. We had never missed a Christmas in Wisconsin. Everyone—both Mom and Dad’s entire immediate and extended families, except us—lived in Wisconsin. Christmas with Hellers, Hansens, Strickers, and Andersons of many generations had been the bedrock of the holiday season for my entire 12 years. But with Mom’s parents in defection, ideas began to spring forth in my dad’s imagination. As his enthusiasm grew, his ideas became contagious.

“I could play golf,” Dad mused in early October. “I could lie out in the sun,” Mom imagined in November. “We could wear shorts and t-shirts and go swimming?” Susan and I asked. Nods were our parents’ reply. By mid-November, the decision was made. We were going to make the drive to Florida and spend a green Christmas with our nomad grandparents.

The hardest part was telling my Dad’s parents. Dad made the announcement—more of a proclamation—during our Thanksgiving visit. Their response was stunned silence. My grandma and grandpa Anderson couldn’t believe it. “You won’t be coming for Christmas or New Year’s?” they asked with a hint of deep hurt in their voices. “Nope,” Dad said. Grandma Anderson tried the guilt-trip angle. It didn’t work. She then tacked to a more accepting but manipulative plea saying, “OK, every other year will be fine.”

Mom arranged for Susan, a kindergartner, and me, a sixth grader, to take three days off from school so that we could start our trip south a week prior to the holiday. We were given strict instructions about what to pack, and how much we could bring. Dad expertly arranged everything in the trunk of our Oldsmobile 98 including the wrapped gifts. Mom assured Susan that Santa would be able to find us in Florida.

The drive was a grueling 24 hours long, broken up into three segments. We left on a Thursday after Dad got home from work. The first segment was four hours long. We then spent the entire next day in the car—14 hours in all. To pass the time we sang songs to the radio, played cards and car games, slept, and sometimes grumbled at one another. Stops were for filling up the gas tank and going to the bathroom, but never for sitting down to eat a meal. We had poptarts and apples for breakfast, packed sandwiches, snacks, and thermoses for lunch, and McDonald’s or Kentucky Fried Chicken for dinner. All meals were eaten in the car. Shortly into the last segment of the long trip we passed the Welcome to Florida sign and Dad honked the horn. We were still another five hours from our grandparents Airstream park, but we soon started to see palm trees.

We stayed with our grandparents in their Airstream for 12 days. It was like camping. Grandma and Grandpa slept in the double bed that was the dining table during the day, Mom and Dad were in the berths on either side of the cabin between the kitchen area and the bathroom, and Susan and I were in sleeping bags on the floor. It was a good thing that the weather was just as we had dreamed about because being outside kept us all sane with such tight quarters for sleeping. Dad went golfing, Mom laid out in the sun, and Susan and I wore t-shirts and shorts and went swimming. On Christmas Day it was 68 degrees. Santa found us just fine. We had such a good time together that by the time we had to head home, we already knew we would be back the following year.

When Dad next spoke with his parents he made another proclamation when the protests to his news that Florida would be our Christmas destination from now on. He was blunt and to the point: “From now on, if you want to spend Christmas with us, you’ll have to come to Florida.” And that’s just what Grandma and Grandpa Anderson did the very next year.

Copyright DJ Anderson, 2019

*In 1969, the word “gypsies” was in common usage, but is now considered a slur. I made the decision to quote my grandmother verbatim rather than edit her. I apologize if this is offensive to any of my readers.