Do you have a funny holiday story? I’d love to hear it. Add it to the Comments section, if you want. I’ve got one, but I’m going to make you wait until the end of this post to read it. First, some background.
Breakfast reminiscence
On a recent morning over coffee and pancakes, my husband, Hoyt, and I were at the kitchen table recalling a few holiday family traditions. Although we’ve both strayed from traditional religion, we were both raised in religious families. But they were steeped in very different religions …
Hoyt the Baptist …
Hoyt’s family was staunch Southern Baptist in the years before the big split over inerrancy. His father, a professor and author, taught many years in the Southern Baptist Seminary in Louisville, Kentucky. At one time, Hoyt was headed in that direction, too, but when in college, he took another path—into philosophy. Later, at twenty-five years old, he finished his PhD at Vanderbilt University and was hired right way by Rollins College where he taught countless students and worked a few years on the “dark side,” as they call college administration. He retired only four years ago. Yes, I like to brag about him!
The Catholic girl
You might know I was raised Roman Catholic, attended Catholic grade school, and considered becoming a nun, until I didn’t. I touch on this in Undertow. My mother was active in the church’s Women’s Guild and made brownies to sell at the annual Christmas bazaar where I bought Christmas presents at the White Elephant table. If you don’t know what that is, it’s sort of like a high-end garage sale. If my sister and I were on Santa’s “Nice” list, Mom would set aside some of her scrumptious brownies for us! To express my gratitude, with my limited budget I usually gave her a recycled treasure I bought at the White Elephant table.
Worshiping in the dark
Baptists, I learned this morning, don’t have midnight services on Christmas Eve, at least Hoyt’s congregation didn’t. On the other hand, our family often went to church in the dark on December 24, where white candles blazed extra bright, lighting up the Nativity scene, and where clusters of scarlet poinsettias seemed to bloom right through the sacristy floor.
Christmas goofs
This morning I also learned that on Christmas Eve, Hoyt and his brother—when they were fairly young—had to perform a skit for their parents. I imagine them in their cowboy-print pajamas singing a few Christmas songs, reciting a few Bible verses about Jesus’ birth, and generally making an endearing spectacle of themselves.
At our house, we each opened one gift deemed extra special. When I was about ten years old, my mother seemed to make an extra big deal about this by rearranging the living room. I sensed this because she had moved her Boston rocker (seen in the featured photo) over next to the Christmas tree that we’d decorated, as usual, with sparkling tinsel, handmade ornaments, and chains of red cranberries with popcorn. That night at gift time, after my sister opened hers, it was my turn. I loved surprises and was ready for my special gift.
“Come on over here, Charlene,” Mom said, waving me towards the rocker and handing me a small box. “Good, sit right there and open your watch!”
Oops, so much for surprises …
Happy holidays to you and yours. May your days be happy and bright!
Until next time!
Your writer on the wing,
Charlene
