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 or to their answering machines. It’s sort of a joke, but not really; it’s gotten to be a 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 fueled by logs cut from our own woods.
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. We didn’t know about the wealth of toys and stuff that was out there; we didn’t see TV ads for Toys R Us like kids do now.
And I can remember, but not too clearly, a Christmas when I was about 5 or 6 years old. Santa came to our house! But 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 fake beard. 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.
I don’t remember what 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.
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 Grandpa (and us), 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. Most of our kids, their spouses and most of our grandkids will be here off and on for part of the Christmas season. Sadly, Mark and his family from Barcelona won’t be able be here.
The bedrooms will be wall-to-wall beds, and I’m sure the living areas will be scattered with toys and shoes and snow clothes. There’ll be some crying and fussing from the littlest kids and some disagreements among the older kids and the adults. The noise will reach high decibel levels.
But mostly, there’ll be the sounds of a family enjoying being together. Our family is scattered, and we don’t see each other very often, so there’ll be many late night conversations and board games going on. 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 to go back to their own homes and their own busy lives.
But I wouldn’t trade this week for anything! This week of family togetherness is worth a whole year of waiting!
In 1843, Charles Dickens published “A Christmas Carol.” 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. Merry Christmas, everyone!
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