Memories…
These days, Christmas is not such a big thing for me. I enjoy the carols and how it looks around me as the community gets decked out for the holiday season.
I have the same feelings of joy when I go to spend Christmas with there families.
It still gives me that happy feeling but I’m not into it the same way I was when the kids were little.
But in recent years I haven’t felt the need to pull out the tree and create the season in my home. It’s not a Scrooge thing by any means. I’m simply at a different place in my life and am content to carry the feeling within.
Last year was my first Christmas alone. Not in a physical sense as I spent the holiday with my son and his family and I had a wonderful time.
But last year, Mom passed away and it was a difficult feeling knowing that there was no one left who remembered my growing-up years.
No one I could simply call and say ‘Do you remember the time when…’ and we would laugh and talk as the memories flowed.
Even as I write this I can feel the tears threatening to spill over at the feeling of loss that creep up and ambush me.
Yet, as the tears shimmer, those memories that are now mine alone bring a smile to my face…
When I was a kid my big sister and I started planning for Christmas night weeks in advance. I think I was in Grade One when Stacy came up with the idea of putting a Christmas show on for our parents after dinner.
We’d sit up in our bedroom after evening chores were done and plan out the program for the night.
Stacy, being three years older, was in charge of the notebook. We wrote out dialogue, scratching out ideas as better ones came along. Disagreements happened but were quickly erased as laughter and silliness took their place.
In the early years, the show consisted of a skit with Stacy playing her guitar and the two of us singing a variety of carols and Christmas songs.
A staple of our productions was the nativity scene.
While we went to church on Sundays, neither Stacy nor myself could be called ‘religious.’
But there was something about the tiny nativity scene we set out each year that spoke to my young mind. Stacy and I learned early on to trade off the job of putting it together or Mom would take over and do it herself.
So I guess it was just natural that it became a part of our night.
Sheets became the perfect capes while a pillowcase and hairband served as a headpiece for each of the three wisemen.
With only the two of us, costume changes were frequent. The design of our house had a short hallway leading off the living room. We would dart into the wings and frantically switch sheet and pillowcase colours depending on who we were portraying in the next scene.
Each year one of us played Mary and the other portrayed Joseph.
I am not sure whose doll we wrapped in swaddling clothes and placed in the manger. What I do remember was it had brilliant blue eyes and the longest lashes.
One thing that never changed after that first year was the finale.
When we were young Mom would sew each of us a matching Christmas dress that we would change into before dinner. Mom would put on a dress of her own (not matching) and Dad changed into a dress shirt and tie.
Maybe in today’s world this sounds odd but in our younger years, it added to the magic of the day.
So after the nativity scene, Stacy would announce a short intermission while we raced to change back into our dresses.
Stacy would come back onstage first and get settled with her guitar and do a solo of “Angels We Have Heard On High” followed by our Christmas message that we wrote each year.
Looking back I realize that as I got older most of these words were mine. Strange.
Once she was done I would come back onstage and sing “Away In A Manger.”
To this day I am not sure why I was encouraged to sing this year after year as I couldn’t sing any better then than I can now but there was a magic to that moment as I struggled to reach the higher notes.
The smiles on Mom and Dad’s faces told the story.
Our gala night continued on for several years, changing as we grew older.
My painful rendition of “Away In A Manger” gave way to playing it on the French Horn.
Our skit became recitations of Christmas poetry.
Stacy again became the author of our message.
I was around 14 when we held our final concert.
I wish I had known it was our finale.
There was no conscious decision to stop putting the performance on. One year - it just didn’t happen.
It wasn’t until last Christmas that I gave thought to how much Mom and Dad must have missed those performances.
They may be gone but this year, this Christmas night?
I will sing “Away In A Manger” for them one last time.
