Christmas as a young child was sometimes a little confusing – particularly for those of us who apparently did a lot more trying to figure things out on our own rather than actually discussing them with adults. We’re talking ages five or six here, not the teen-age years when we shunned adults entirely.

Sure, we got the Santa bit and we were happy to play along with the fallacy for as long as it would benefit us. Why raise questions about logistics and physical limitations if you have presents under the tree on Christmas Day? Yay, Santa! (The Easter Bunny, of course, met its fate much earlier. It was far less believable for anyone who had ever seen real rabbits up close. Just gimme the candy and let’s keep things moving here.)

We’ll take the 12 Days of Christmas as an example of my childhood confusion. Nobody, as far as I recall, ever explained these 12 days to my satisfaction. I only got one day of Christmas – two if you count Christmas Eve, when we often got to open one present. I felt like someone was cheating me out of at least 10 days when, I dreamed, the parade of presents from others should have continued marching on. We sang about all those days, though. The song talked about getting different gifts from a “true love” for each day. Anyone who would keep Christmas gifts flowing to me for almost two weeks was, in my opinion, “my true love.” Apparently even at a young age I could be bought. (Over the years it seems my price, if not my value, has increased.)

That isn’t to say that I didn’t have huge issues with the presents actually given in the song. I secretly hoped that my “true love” knew me better than to give me some of that stuff.

A partridge in a pear tree seemed like a very stupid gift. How do you get the partridge to stay there – wire his little feet to the branch? Two minutes after unwrapping it all you have is a pear tree with partridge poop in it. Hey, thanks! (When I was a little older and had more exposure to network television, I envisioned David Cassidy stuck on an upper limb of a huge pear tree, ostensibly in the front yard of the Brady household [lots of exposure to network television!]. I wondered if anyone would bother to help him down, and rather hoped not. Perhaps Bobby and Peter would throw rocks at him until Cindy went to tell on them. But I, not for the first time, digress....)

For the second day of Christmas, I had a bit of an issue with the two turtle doves. I knew what turtles were. I knew what doves were. The image of “turtle doves” both mystified me and frightened me a little. Were they doves that just flew really slowly? Perhaps they were flightless birds, like penguins, that couldn’t get off the ground because of the weight of their shells. Either way, they didn’t sound like a very good present. (Most examples of a good present had either the words Mattel or Hasbro on them. Hot Wheels and Matchbox were also acceptable labels, but only when received in sufficient quantity.)

I saw racial overtones in the whole “three French hens” gift. I knew what hens were. Why these were described specifically as “French hens” left me clueless. Were French hens better or worse than regular hens? Would you describe your average chicken as being an “American hen”? Were chickens in other countries different than chickens in America? If so, did they taste different? If different countries had chickens that tasted different, how did you know what something tasted like when people said it “tastes like chicken?” American chicken or someone else’s? I’m still not sure about the answers on this one. Chinese chicken dishes always leave me wondering.

By the time the song got to “four calling birds” I had the suspicion that the songwriter’s “true love” was a member of the Audubon Society or something. You’ve gotten four different types of birds and a tree. I wasn’t all that wild about pears as a child, so it made sense to me that the tree could be otherwise useful as a perch for all the avian gifts with which the songwriter had been bestowed; though again, it seemed that keeping them in place would prove to be the true challenge. I knew that “calling birds” weren’t really using a phone or something. But I didn’t know how these birds were supposed to be different from partridges, doves, and hens, since I instinctively knew that none of these were mute species of birds. “Four calling birds” seemed rather vague, (particularly after specifically mentioning turtle doves and French hens,) like there were different grades of “calling birds” and you didn’t want to embarrass your “true love” by mentioning that what they really bought you were the cheaper ones.

Despite the image of trying to fit them all on one finger at the same time, the “five golden rings” were the first gift that seemed to make some sense. Golden rings would have a certain appraised value for resale, for example. Golden rings wouldn’t require you to feed them or clean up after them, like the previous gifts. Perhaps, I thought, the songwriter had set their true love straight by that time on what constituted a good present. To me that didn’t include birds. Unfortunately, as the six geese a-laying, and seven swans a-swimming proved, this was not the case.

After that, the song turns towards the hired help, with receiving eight maids a-milking and nine ladies dancing. I was, at the time, too young to appreciate what a fine gift nine ladies dancing could be. But it sounded like we were getting more milk than we needed.

With the lords a-leaping, pipers piping and drummers drumming, (no doubt with the nine ladies dancing along), the entire scene of getting all these presents together in one place seems hopelessly chaotic. It’s no wonder that people like Allan Sherman and Bob and Doug McKenzie have replaced these original gifts with the more appropriate, more sensible fare for which these performers are known. After all, the song is relatively snappy, if slightly long-winded towards the end. The concept is straight-forward and understandable. All that’s really needed is some presents that make a little sense. In my case, I’m missing about 10 days worth of them.