The visitation by the first Spirit came to remind me that Christmas pilgrimages always started late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve when mother returned home from work. Our bags were packed the night before, and the journeys began with extended car rides across the vast expanse of Texas highways. We crossed the great triangle between Houston, New Braunfuls, and Corpus Christi. This included stops along the way to visit multiples sets of grandparents and godparents.
Our car was not just our mode of transportation but was also our rolling opera house. Christmas Caroling was performed with radio turned off. The three of us, mother, brother, and I would take turns picking a song to sing. Somehow we knew every song, and if we didn't know the words, our approximations were close enough. Silent Night was as close to church as we got during the holiday.
Wherever we arrived we were met with the hearth of loving family. The signs of storge (the familial love) were conveyed liberally. Affectionate hugs and giant squeezes from aunts, grandparents, cousins were readily available. The token gesture of affection by uncles of mussing the head was always expected, although it was not always welcome, especially if it took the form of a noogie.
And the festivities began!
"You're too little; this is a grown up game. Y'all go play." This was the mantra of the adults as we sidled up to the card table. Our noses barely reaching the top edge of the table, we stood looking on as they played "42" and drank rum spiked eggnog, a drink that was off limits to us kids. "You wouldn't like it" was the response to the queries of, "Can I have a taste?"
The house was bedazzled with doubled sided tinsel of shiny red and silver. And the Christmas tree was adorned with a mixture of homemade ornaments, popcorn, and inexpensive orbs with sequins and cording. The tree lights were the small interior lights with pointy plastic ice crystals around them.
Candy dishes were placed throughout the house with treats waiting to be gobbled up by little mouths. Chocolate covered cherries and caramels, white after dinner mints, and cookies seemed to define Christmas for us each year. Occasionally you might accidentally pick up a chocolate covered scotch-mallow or rum nougat which quietly and stealthily made its way back into the See's Candies box. It wasn't uncommon to find a half-eaten chocolate in the box.
We never worried about ruining our dinner because "1" it was Christmas which meant we could do whatever we wanted; "2" we always seemed to arrive just as the Christmas turkey and ham were cooked and ready to serve. That meant that we started with a full meal which included stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans and giblet gravy to name just a portion of the feast. There were cherry, apple, and pumpkin pies topped with cool whip.
When it came to opening presents we were less consistent. Some years we opened gifts on Christmas morning while other years we opened them on Christmas eve. Christmas church services were never a part of our family's custom. Midnight mass was something the Romans did at St. Peter's. The tearing of paper and ripping off of bows was our religious practice. Sometimes family would have to work Christmas eve which always delayed our services. Either way, the gifts never seemed to disappoint. One year we received pop guns. These were rifles which cocked and shot a cork attached to the end of the barrel by a string. That was a winner! Another year we received a guitar with nylon strings and somehow right out of the box, I miraculously played Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer. At least the adults didn't let on otherwise.
Looking back on Christmases past, church and religion were not a part of our holiday. The Baby Jesus with his golden fleece blanket was out there on the edge. Even still there was love. I wouldn't say there was a lot of peace, but there was love and joy. Everyone in our family of course believed in Jesus. But at least in this little boy's mind, Jesus had yet to become "the reason for the season."
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