A Little Christmas Story.

Every year, Christmas Eve has been a remarkable event. I am one of 5 children and one of 4 daughters. Sometimes we'd go to my paternal aunt's for Christmas Eve dinner. We'd play games with our cousins and share little gifts.  Sometimes we'd go to my Grandma's house... loved that, she was the best cook and made anisette cookies that sang Christmas.  Sometimes we'd go to our lovely neighbor's and she'd include some of my extended family. Her name was Eve and she'd present the most elegant Christmas Eve dinner. 

Later, at home, Mom and Dad would let us open one gift from under the tree. (The stockings were still empty. In our house, Santa filled the stockings while we were sleeping.)

Christmas Eve. We could chose to open any package under the tree addressed to us, but somehow, I think my parents guided us to the wrapped book or a fuzzy stuffed animal that would send us happily to sleep.

Oh, and the morning! The five of us would wake each other up. Christmas morning! Get Up! Run downstairs! OH! My parents (and Santa) were extravagant again! So many presents! (There were FIVE of us... a lot of presents under the tree... almost too much. Is that BIG one for me?)

Ah.

But...
We had rules for Christmas morning.

Santa had filled our stockings. We knew we could immediately rush to the fireplace (sometimes a paper fireplace) and look in the stockings. We could open and use everything in the stockings now!

The stockings were filled with new socks or panty-hose (depending on our age and sex). My sisters and I had new veils for church. My brother had a new tie. No oranges or candy. Oh. Right. No Breakfast! We had to fast in those days prior to communion. It didn't matter that we were only 8 years old. Church first. Sacrifice first. Presents later. (Breakfast? Who needs breakfast?)

So... off we'd go to church. Oh, my gosh, we always went to High Mass. The really LONG version of Mass.  If you were Catholic, like me, you spent a little time after the really long Mass visiting the Baby Jesus.

As we left the church, the priest and the neighbors and all their kids had to be greeted and wished a Merry Christmas. (We were well-trained children and all on our best behavior... It was Christmas! We were caught up in it ALL...  Rewards were yet to come!)

The seven of us (Mom, Dad and the five kids) would climb into the Oldsmobile. Dad would then say, "Let's go out for breakfast!" OH, NO... there were presents waiting at home! Couldn't we just have a little cereal and open the gifts? But NO! (Dad was driving. We didn't have a choice. I realize now, he had a plan. He was just prolonging the anticipation.)

It was torture.

We went to the Jewish Deli. Every year. They were open on Christmas Morning. We had eggs and hash browns and toast and jelly. We spent the entire time begging our father to take us home to the gifts under the tree. He laughed and enjoyed our frustration. He was teasing us. I look back and think, "What a riot!"

FINALLY we'd come home to the tree and all the presents waiting to be opened. It was now about 11 o'clock. Some of us wanted to get out of "church clothes," some of us needed to use the bathroom... yeah, that would be Dad. We never opened a gift without everyone in the room. Now we needed to wait for DAD to get out of the toilet. (Dads can be gross like that.) So, at 13, 9, 7, 4 and 2 we'd wait and wait for Dad. We'd talk and ultimately sing more Christmas songs. Mom would say, "C'mon Dad!"

And Dad, laughing, would finally join us all in the living room.

We took turns each year "playing" Santa. One child was assigned the task of handing out the presents. We'd each get a present and wait until every person had a gift and then open them one at a time all together. We'd thank each other, pick up the paper and move on. PERFECT. Well, that's how it started. Ultimately, we were all under the tree, pulling out the packages labeled with our names. Yeah, Chaos!
Okay, kinda perfect too.

It was now around noon. Our family Christmas was over and we were free to join our friends on the block with our new skateboards or bicycles or Barbie Dolls. We were free to play!

Yay!

Christmas dinner was strictly a family affair and very casual. No pressure. We could join another family or stay home as we pleased. We could play with each other or with friends. We'd always end up singing songs together at the end of the night.

As we grew older, Mom started making breakfast at home. In my late teens we started attending Midnight Mass so the dynamic changed a bit. Suddenly, my siblings and I were in college and we came home but briefly. We started getting married, some of us had children and all of us needed to start new traditions with our spouses.  Our old Family Christmas became all about breakfast and the beginnings of a new day.

And to this day... my mother gone, my Dad in fairly good health, many of us come together with the next generation. We eat a Christmas breakfast, go to the toilet, and gather to open presents. We wait for everyone to join us in the family living room. We assign one niece or nephew to play "Santa"; we open presents and chat and sing. Dalila plays the piano. We kiss and love and say good-bye around 2 or 3 pm. We are then free to play! Or, to see the in-laws or to just go home and be oh so grateful to be part of this particular family.

We have a tradition. It is about anticipation and communion. It is about family. It is and has always been about enjoying the holiday... together and apart.

This year, as my mother did for so many years, I'm preparing scrambled eggs, cranberry bread, strawberries and Christmas sausages. We'll eat first and open presents later.

Happy Holidays Dear Readers!