The Holiday Season

 

The Holiday Season

Thanksgiving always starts the holiday season for me. It culminates on January 6^th, Three Kings Day. I love the season and Christmas music is my go-to year-round when I need to decompress. 

There continues to be so much hatred and divisiveness in this country. I choose to put it in a closet for the next four or five weeks.  That’s a technique I learned in childhood. It’s not always a functional thing to do but it does save me physically and emotionally from stress and grief temporarily.

When I was growing up on Long Island, the Christmas season was something we kids looked forward to all year. It seemed to take such a long time to arrive as we slowly got ready for it: Thanksgiving dinner, decorations, choosing a tree.  Until I was about 7 or 8, my Deaf father would read “The Night Before Christmas” aloud. He read painstakingly and pointed to each word (and that’s how I learned to read before I started kindergarten).  When I hear the story read aloud, I flash back to my dad’s voice.  It was flat and without inflection but a loving, comforting sound.

I remember Christmas Eve services. Most members of our family attended the Presbyterian Church of Islip. Our Sunday school class did a little program at the beginning of one year’s service. I remember the minister and my grandma came to our house to ask my parents if I could be the narrator.  I had lines to learn, and my parents practiced with me, reading my lips as I practiced my lines.

The stained-glass windows were beautiful in the dim light, and I remember looking around at all the people pictured in the windows.  The church had a ginormous organ with pipes that reached to the ceilings. The organ music was loud and comforting, and I could feel the vibrations inside my body. My parents relied on instruments like that to enjoy music. Most of the service was boring for them because there were no sign language interpreters. When the choirs sang with their lovely voices, my parents only saw lips moving. There were no vibrations from the voices.  Ah, but when the organ played, my parents’ eyes lit up with joy and they’d smile.

In later years, after we moved to Maryland, there were no more church services. My parents drank heavily, fought and there was DV. But they always had a truce for a few weeks during the Christmas season. I think it’s true that most people are imbued with the joy of the season.

But why?

For a child, I think it’s all about Santa.  Yes, I learned the Christmas Story in Sunday School. Those were the “olden days” and far removed from anything I’d experienced. Spending the night in a manger with animals? Being turned away everywhere else? The rejection weighed heavily on me. It was much better and happier to focus on Santa, that jolly old man with all the toys.

There’s always a point when the truth comes out. There is no Santa per se, but he represents the spirit of loving and giving. One of my favorite pictures is of a Santa kneeling by the cradle of baby Jesus. Santa’s act of love and giving reflects Jesus’ teachings.

Not everyone is Christian. Not everyone celebrates Christmas or recognizes Santa Claus.  Over the years, Santa’s come to represent commercialism and gimmie-ism.

It doesn’t matter what we believe. What matters the most to me about Christmas is the spirit of caring for others, showing appreciation for them, and caring for them.  Gifts don’t really matter in the end, either. What matters is the gift of love that goes with it.

I try to feel this way all year round because we should not have this loving, giving feeling for just six weeks of the year.  I must admit, though, my inner candle’s flame is brighter and stronger this month.