Every Christmas Eve, Marilyn sings a song she taught to elementary school kids back in the early 1960s when we first came to Beaver Dam. The song begins, “Tomorrow will be Christmas, and we will carols sing, and early in the morning, the sweet church bells will ring, ring-a-ling.”
And if our kids are not going to be with us on Christmas Eve, as sometimes happens, she’ll call and sing to them. It’s sort of a joke, but not really; it’s gotten to be a sort of family tradition with our family. And this season is all about traditions, isn’t it?
Most families have their own traditions, their special ways of observing this wonderful, joyous time of year. I grew up poor — in financial terms only. We lived in a log cabin without electricity or running water. Our central heating was a big old cast iron cookstove. In the wintertime, white leaf-patterned hoarfrost would form on the single-paned windows of the cabin. The frost would crack and melt and freeze again as the heat from the cookstove spread across the room and touched the glass. The light from the flickering kerosene lamps would dance on the small clear areas of the window panes, which were black against the night.
At Christmas time we’d have a small tree, simply decorated with lots of tinsel and a few ornaments. There weren’t many gifts, but my sister and I didn’t complain. Christmas was a neat time when there were lots of Mom’s big, thick cut-out cookies with the white frosting, a very special treat. And fruitcake, too!
And I can remember, but not too clearly, a Christmas when I was about 5 or 6 years old. Santa came to our house! I was just on the edge of being a non-believer, but Joyce was a year younger and still a real believer. And I knew that year that Santa was “Big John” Konitzer, our neighbor from across the road! I just happened to be looking out the window and saw him get out of his car and come up the path to the house.
Big John had the right physique, and he was wearing a long white beard that looked like he’d cut off a horse’s tail. He didn’t have a Santa suit; he was decked out in his big red and black plaid mackinaw with a matching wool cap with ear-flaps. Times were tough, and he did the best he could to be the jolly old elf in red. And even if I hadn’t seen him get out of his car, I’d have seen through the disguise. But I didn’t let on. After all, Joyce still believed.
I don’t remember what Big John, I mean “Santa,” brought that year, and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Mom and Dad were doing the best they could to make Christmas special for Joyce and me. They tried very hard to make all of our Christmases special.
My Grandpa VanHaren lived with us, so we always had a lot of company at holidays. Most of my dad’s siblings and their kids (lots of ‘em) would come to visit, so the house was always full of people, good cheer, and the smells of Mom’s cooking. It was an amazing family time.
Now, Christmas at our house is a big family time, too. Our kids, their spouses, and all of our grandkids will be here sometime over the holidays. Our daughter and her husband have passed away, and we’ll miss them dearly.
The bedrooms will be wall-to-wall beds, the living areas will be scattered with toys and shoes. There will probably be some fussing from the littlest kids and some disagreements. The noise will reach higher decibel levels. But mostly, there’ll be the sounds of a family enjoying being together. Our kids don’t see each other very often, so there’ll be many late night conversations. By the end of the week, we’ll all be exhausted, and it’ll take a while for us to readjust to the quiet and solitude when everyone leaves.
But I wouldn’t trade this season for anything! This time of family togetherness is worth a whole year of waiting!
In 1843, Dickens published “A Christmas Carol.” It became one of the most popular short works of fiction ever penned. Although the book is more a work of sentiment than of Christianity, it captures the Christmas spirit. The tight-fisted curmudgeon Scrooge is contrasted with the struggling poor, symbolized by Bob Cratchit and Tiny Tim. The book’s appeal to good works and charitable contributions virtually defines Christmas in English-speaking lands.
May Tiny Tim’s exclamation, “God Bless us every one!” be the cry we wish each other.
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