My fifty-seven-year-old son, Bret, and his wife, Chris, visited over the holiday, and during dinner, our conversation focused on Christmas memories. Bret recalled that when he was sixteen, he asked that, instead of buying him gifts, we buy him silver – yes, hard to believe, but “truth is often stranger than fiction.” That’s just the way Bret was, still is. So, he received two little bars of silver each weighing four ounces and worth about $50 in 1985. He remembered being very pleased and said, “It was better than a pair of jeans and a shirt.”
After describing several of my favorite memories and my husband shared several of his, I turned to Chris and asked, “How did your family celebrate Christmas?” I knew that she was Catholic and her family always attended Christmas Mass, as did many families in her home farming community, but Chris’ family was a little unique – Chris was the tenth of fifteen children, ten sisters and four brothers. The oldest was ten years older than Chris, and the youngest was ten years younger. When her parents were first married, they bought wilderness acreage, cut and milled trees and built a house and barn, cleared rocky fields and planted corn, milked about forty cows and sold milk, raised chickens for eggs, and butchered pigs. Deer meat was preserved in fruit jars, as were garden vegetables, jams, and juices. Hundreds of fruit jars lined their cellar shelves. I knew Chris’ family was frugal and self-sufficient, so, I assumed she would have some interesting Christmas memories. She did.
“When I was little,” she explained, “Christmas Eve Day and Night were special to my family. While the cows were being milked in the late afternoon, my sisters and I gave extra milk to the barn cats, extra corn to the chickens, and a little extra hay to the cows. Then we laid in the straw and waited for my father and older brothers and sisters to finish milking. Afterward, we went to the house to get ready for Christmas Mass. After taking baths and putting on church clothes, we drove in a very crowded station wagon to the little neighborhood Catholic church.
“Christmas Mass was special. Candles lit the sanctuary, more candles than usual, and instead of smelling like incense, it smelled like balsam because bundles of balsam boughs were tied with red ribbons on the end of each row of benches. I especially liked Christmas mass because the priest didn’t only recite the mass, he read the Christmas story aloud in his gentle voice.
“After returning home, we ate our Christmas Eve meal. At least my siblings and I tried to eat, however, we were too excited to think about eating. All that we could think about was what would follow – the Christmas Eve celebration. This began when my mother plugged in the lights on the Christmas. Before poking the plug into the outlet, she said, “The lights on the tree are to remind us that Jesus is the Light of the World. Until this moment, the tree lights had not been plugged in.
“After the tree was lit, my mother, father, and older siblings sat on the couch holding babies and toddlers and waiting for the traditional Baby Jesus Procession. During this event, a tiny ceramic Baby Jesus was placed in the Nativity Creche beneath the Christmas tree. Each year a different child had the honor of carrying this tiny Baby Jesus while others walked behind holding a lit candle. After Baby Jesus was gently placed in the tiny manger, we blew out our candles and sat in a circle on the floor in front of the couch. I remember wiggling and giggling with my sisters in anticipation of being given our Christmas presents.
“My mother quietly stood up and walked into my parent’s bedroom. When she returned, she was carrying brown paper grocery bags. A name was written on each bag, and after giving out these bags, she returned to the bedroom for more. When everyone had been given a bag, she sat down next to my father and took his hand. That meant that we could open our bag, our Christmas present. Nothing was wrapped in colorful paper or had fancy ribbons, but the thrill of looking inside that brown grocery bag was breath taking. Everyone received several pieces of hard candy, peanuts in the shell, an apple, an orange, and two or three used toys that my mother had bought at rummage sales during the summer. I remember receiving a cardboard puzzle that, when assembled, could be slid back and forth to change the picture of a cow to that of a garden; this was really special. No one had ever received such a gift before. However, everyone, even the oldest siblings, received the traditional Christmas gift: a pair of underpants. “They weren’t frilly panties. Nope, they were cotton-grandma-type undies,” she said while holding up an imaginary pair of wide underpants with her fingers. Then she added, “Of course my brothers were given boy shorts.”
“After opening our presents, we went into the kitchen and stood around the table and watched while my father lit a single candle in the center of a cake, the Baby Jesus’ Birthday Cake. Before cutting this sacred cake, my father led us in singing Happy Birthday to Jesus.”
Chris ended her memory with, “Sometimes we had ice cream with the cake but usually thick sweetened cream was poured over it. No one ever complained.”
As the Crow Flies 