Ahh, so once again, here I sit, a few days before Christmas, work finally lightening up just before an extended break, listening to music of the season, as I have done for a few years now. Only, it doesn't feel like Christmas. I feel like Cindy Lou Who in Ron Howard's take on "the Grinch", looking for that spirit to wrap me in its mantle, asking the question, "Where are you, Christmas?"
And I don't have an answer.
I just can't seem to find it, no matter where I look. Now - before any of you go and start thinking there's something wrong, I do NOT feel depressed or lonesome, or like the holidays are a waste of time, or anything like that. Quite the contrary - I WANT to be amazed, dazzled, filled with sugarplum fairy magic that turns things into a festive wonderland - all that good stuff. For some reason, this year, it's difficult to channel that spirit and feel it all around me.
Perhaps it's the cold - err - the warmth. It doesn't feel like Christmas outside to me. There's no snow. Christmas just isn't Christmas without a little snow on the ground, or the scent of pine boughs wafting through a house. It needs some good old fashioned egg nog or mulled wine, a peppermint stick and a roaring fireplace. It needs music. Most of all, if I had to pick my favorite thing about it, it needs darkness.
Maybe that's what it is that I'm missing. The best memory, my most favorite thing of all at Christmastime was to sit in the dark and watch the tree, decorated with bobs and baubles of every shape and size reflect the lights that twinkled on and off between the branches of the tree. I distinctly remember that my father would dress the tree with three strings of colored lights. Those things lasted forever, it seems. They blinked out of sequence, and I remember watching the patterns on the ceiling change until the sequence made its full cycle and began again, watching as the shadow-patterns changed. It was dark, so there was only one thing to do: watch the tree and listen to whatever music was playing on the record player - yeah, I said "record player" - as in old vinyl albums.
That darkness held in it a mystery and a fascination that marked the season for me. What was glitzy and glittering in the world didn't matter - it was too dark to see it anyway. There was plenty of time for everything that was shiny and new, but most importantly, there was the simple quietness of those moments.
I couldn't tell you if my parents planned that specifically or not. I don't know, and I doubt I will ever ask. They probably used it as a way to just quiet the house down, if the truth would ever come out. I can look now and see the symbolism inherent in those moments: the "people in darkness" witnessing a "great light," Christ being the Light or the World, etc - even down to the Grinch realizing that "...maybe Christmas didn't come from a store..." All have their small spot in this rather Rockwellian scene, I suppose.
There was something elsemy parents did that ended up being pretty cool: A day or two prior to Christmas Eve, my mother would bake a cake. This was a special cake - it was a birthday cake. Of course, all kids know and understand the importance of a birthday - Mom was pretty good at taking advantage of these opportunities. This cake was white, with three layers, round, coated with white icing with little red hots all around the outside edge, and one lone candle in the middle. This was the birthday cake for Jesus.
We would go to the evening Mass, and when we came home, excited as only children know how to be, we would gather in the living room, and pass around the nativity set, all wrapped up in newspapers. We would unwrap the characters of the nativity, and smile and hope we wouldn't get stuck with the stupid cow again. Dad would read the Christmas Story from the Gospel of Luke, and as the verses directed, we would each place our character in the little box/manger under the tree. When that was done, we would celebrate the coming of Jesus by singing happy birthday and Mom woudl ask us about all the symbolic things about the cake while we scarfed it down. I'm not so sure giving small children sugar right before bed on Christmas Eve was the smartest thing they ever decided to do, but, well, it was only once a year. But that's how it was - Christmas Eve was for Jesus, Christmas Day was for Santa Claus.
Somehow, through the years, Jesus and Santa never had a fight. It worked for us. And other than a few rare instances, I can barely racall anything Santa gave me.
This year will be the second in a row that I've not put up a Christmas tree, as I won't be home for the holiday. Maybe that's why it doesn't quite feel right. I can't be certain, but I know one thing: sitting here writing this, telling any who might read how I grew up, sharing with my friends and relatives - it feels just like I'm sitting in the dark, watching those colorful blinking lights on the tree, listening to vinyl records spin on the turntable, with all their white noise playing through the hi-fi set. It's December 20th, and maybe I just found Christmas.
A very Merry Christmas to you all. Whether you celebrate Christmas, Hannukah, Kwanza, the Solstice, or any other particular belief - may you be surrounded with family and friends. May you know joy and peace. May you revel in the warm thoughts of the season. May you find rest. Know that I'm thinking of you, and I consider myself blessed to have you in my life. So say it again - despite the political incorrectness of it: MERRY CHRISTMAS!
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
