The More, the Merrier
Ask anyone who knows me…my memory sucks. When someone asks me a question about anything from more than a year or two ago, they’re probably not going to get an answer or I’m going to direct them to my sister because she remembers everything. It’s even worse if I try to recall something from my childhood. For some reason, my memory is especially spotty when it comes to anything prior to middle school. Fortunately, there’s one thing I will never forget–our big family Christmases.
When I was five, my parents divorced. Shortly after the divorce, my mother got remarried. In addition to a new, second father, I got three new brothers and a sister, giving me a total of four brothers and two sisters…each of them a teenager, or very close to becoming one. My mom, sister and brother, and I moved into our new family’s 3-bedroom rancher. I can’t remember if the modifications took place before or after the move, but one bedroom was added for the boys and half of the garage was converted into a bedroom for the parents. I also don’t remember how long (if at all) my oldest brother was there before enlisting in the Air Force, but even with him gone, eight people in that house was a tight squeeze. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I LOVED it. Especially at Christmas time.
For me, the Christmas season officially began on Thanksgiving, when, because there were so many of us, we drew names for exchanging Christmas gifts. From Thanksgiving on, I was bouncing off the walls with excitement. There were so many things to look forward to. In mid-December, I was allowed to miss one day of school and I didn’t even have to fake being sick to do it. On that special day, my mom took me to the tree farm up the road and we picked out a tree. It was never a tall, slender tree…we liked the fat trees.
Also, throughout the month of December, various Christmas specials came on television. This was the 70’s…long before the days of cable television, VCRs, or video streaming, and there were only three major stations: ABC, NBC, and CBS. How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer, Santa Claus is Coming to Town, A Charlie Brown Christmas, and all of the other must-see Christmas programs aired one time and if you missed any of them, tough luck, buttercup…you’d have to wait another year for your next chance to see them. Watching those shows was a BIG deal to me, so you can bet this kid never missed even one of them.
In addition to all of the other December perks, there was Christmas vacation to look forward to. No homework, no getting up at the crack of dawn, and plenty of time to lounge around or play with friends. Yep, December really was the very best month of the year. The best day of the year? Christmas Eve, of course.
Dad Coy (that’s what we called him) was a Catholic and he didn’t just call himself a Catholic; he was legit. Every evening, he would go in his bedroom, shut his door, and with his rosary beads in hand, he’d pray. I’m pretty sure he went to mass every Sunday, too. As devout as he was, I don’t recall him ever pushing religion on any of us and I don’t remember him ever making me go to church…except for on Christmas Eve. All of us had to go on Christmas Eve.
I don’t know how many services were held on Christmas Eve, but we went to the evening one that was probably over around eight or nine…I don’t remember for sure. What I do remember is that it was the longest thing I’d ever had to sit through in my entire (albeit, short) life. In actuality, it was probably only an hour or so, but knowing what came after the service made it feel like an eternity. During the never-ending Christmas mass service, my brothers entertained themselves (and me) by cutting up–farting, giggling, etc.–throughout the whole thing. And there was always a singer in some other part of the church that we could never see, but thanks to the speaker system, could hear loud and clear–which was unfortunate because singing was obviously not her strong suit and was quite painful on the listeners’ ears.
When the service finally ended, the fun began. We’d all pile in the station wagon and head back to the house. The drive home was always exciting for me because not only were we headed to a party, I got to see the star again. People who grew up here know exactly what I’m talking about when I say, “the star.” Each year, a local business (or radio station, or somebody) displayed, high above the treetops, a lighted star, and there wasn’t a kid in the county who didn’t love that thing. It’s still there every year and it still makes me happy when I see it.
When we got back to the house, that’s when the party commenced: there were ham biscuits, spiked punch, and a whole bunch of other goodies. Family friends (mostly of my brothers and sisters) came over. Some were in and out, and others stayed for a while. To this day, I’ve never been to a party that topped those Christmas Eve parties–they’re legendary in the old neighborhood, I think. In fact, just the other night, one of those now grown teenagers–a friend of my sister’s, brought up the Christmas Eve parties, fondly recalling waiting for us to get back from mass so everyone could come over and eat “your Mom’s ham biscuits.”
Either before or after the party on Christmas Eve (told you my memory sucks), we exchanged presents for the names we’d drawn. For some reason, the babydoll that my brother, Pat, got for me is the one gift I remember. I loved that bald, little plastic infant and I’ve never forgotten her.
Eventually, I was off to bed but that definitely didn’t imply sleep. There was no way I was going to miss spotting that sleigh fly in for a landing. My bed was up against the wall by the window, so I spent hours with my nose pressed up against the cold, wet glass. Of course, I fell asleep at some point, but that didn’t happen until the wee hours of the morning. I’m willing to bet that every year, Santa showed up exactly thirty seconds after I’d conked out; there’s no doubt in my mind about that.
Looking back, it doesn’t matter a bit to me that I missed Santa every year by mere seconds. Although Santa was a part of what made Christmas magical, he wasn’t the main act; the main act was us. If I could pick a six-hour block from my life to revisit again, it would be Christmas Eve, beginning with Christmas Eve mass, because that six hour time block is when the magic happened. We were together and during that time, everyone was (or at least seemed) happy. Our house was filled with family, friends, ham biscuits and that delicious spiked punch.
People say that it’s not about gifts on Christmas; that it’s about family and friends. They’re right, and I have those Christmas Eve memories to prove it. But I didn’t write this to repeat something that is not only a little cliche, but is also something that you already know. I wrote it because:
1. I was feeling a little nostalgic, and 2. While the best part of Christmas is making memories with our families and friends, we sometimes forget that there are people around us who don’t have any nearby family or friends to make memories with. This year, realizing that someone I know spends every holiday alone, I decided that she’ll spend at least a few hours with me and some of my family. Last weekend, she came over and watched a movie with me and I plan to invite her over on Christmas to make gingerbread men with my son and me. I know it doesn’t sound exciting, but I also know it will mean the world to her to simply have company on Christmas day.
So when you’re making plans for this year’s festivities, if there’s anyone you know who may be lonely on Christmas, consider inviting them to join in your celebration, even if it’s just for a few hours. It’s nice to remember Christmases gone by and to make new Christmas memories with loved ones, but it’s even nicer to make memories with someone whose only memories would otherwise consist of being alone on such a special day.
Plus, they say, “The more, the merrier,” and what better time to be as merry as possible than on Christmas?