CThis is Christmas Eve Day if you celebrate Christmas. When I was growing up, there were two kinds of families with respect to Christmas, those who opened their presents Christmas Eve and those who did so Christmas morning. The former kind of family must have moved past the Santa phase. The latter counted on the time after the kids went to bed to tackle “Some Assembly Required” presents. The Whites were confirmed Christmas morning celebrants.
Over my 71 years, I have been blessed with countless Christmas presents; ones that last and don’t require any assembly. I’ll open a few here this Christmas Eve to demonstrate that old dogs can learn new tricks.
First among them is the collection of memories from my growing up. Mom loved to tell two stories every year about Christmas and me: as a six-month old, I allegedly let out my first real belly laugh when I saw my sister, Sandee, descend the stairs dressed as an angel for a play; a couple of years later, after opening a pile of presents, apparently I cried that I was getting too many.
Laughing “at” my sister rather than “with” her actually makes me sound unwittingly mean. Protesting over getting too much makes me sound unreasonably angelic. I don’t think Mom intended either but she sure enjoyed her stories. Her annual re-telling of such family myths is a fresh present in my mind’s eye every year.
So are her Christmas trees dripping with tinsel and lit with lights the size of night light bulbs, always colored, never clear. We would find strands of tinsel in the living room into March! Mom was fine with replicating that tree every year, too. Dad’s role was to place the angel on the top of the tree, an adornment that got pretty dirty over nearly 50 years of use.
There was the year when a young woman serving Dad’s church as a youth pastor spent Christmas with us, her family distant in the Midwest. When she opened one particular package, she began to cry. That was the first time I remember seeing a grown-up cry tears of joy, as I was told they were, although…
The second present is big, and didn’t big packages always carry a specialness? Inside are times Judy and I have shared. As members of the San Diego High School Choir, we sang at the Hotel Del Coronado as diners enjoyed their Christmas Eve dinners. That was a date for us! We also learned how tough it is to sing when nobody is really paying attention.
There is the Christmas on Mt. Vernon Avenue when our house was burglarized, and the thieves took all of the presents from under the tree. Ha! The joke was on them, maybe. Some (ranging from a few in Judy’s version of the story and most in mine) of the packages were empty, trick presents. So, all the bad guys got was a box, some wrapping paper, and a bow, several times over. (Judy’s story is probably more accurate but way less satisfying in a very uncharitable way.)
Christmas 1968, we were living in Seattle as a year as grad students. On Christmas Eve, as the Apollo astronauts circled the moon on TV, we worked with Jim and Joann Richards on the “Some Assembly Required” gifts for their three boys. Jim’s parents, Lorene and Gene, were watching and encouraging. Just recalling Lorene and Gene is always a gift. That their great-grandson just graduated last week from the University of Hawaii, Manoa with Jim, Joanne, their daughter-in-law, Teresa, and one of those boys, Dan, (now a dad himself) in attendance was this year’s refreshment of a treasured story.
How about Christmas Eve in London and Christmas Day in Nairobi in 1985? Or the Christmas Eve candlelight services over the years, or the year our very tall Christmas tree, fully decorated, fell over one night?
Judy and I never got into the tinsel habit. Early in our married life, we bought some plastic snowflakes, clear enough to let light through them, giving the illusion of many more lights on the tree than were actually there. We have put up a tree again this year, and there are still enough of the snowflakes to cover it. We also made some ornaments ourselves as we were just starting out. They, too, now adorn this year’s tree.
I have written before about that moment of pure grace we shared with Mom and Chad and Sandee in the car on a chilly Christmas Eve waiting to go into the church service listening to Ke’ali’i Reichel’s Christmas album. Count that as most precious.
That night is a part of the third present, an audio one. Christmas music, some ancient, some modern, some sacred, some not. We enjoyed three Christmas concerts this year. We have nearly as many Christmas CDs as the number of years we have been married, and each one has the effect of putting us in specific times of our lives. Writing holiday greeting cards to people we have not seen in a while, listening to those CDs, is an exercise in the joy of remembering, opening a trove of treasure.
People of a Certain Age, you have your own presents under your own trees if you celebrate Christmas. And if you do not celebrate Christmas (most of the world does not), there is still a gift we can all share. When else do we make such a fuss over light and love?
Daniel E. White
December 24, 2018