Have you ever had a perfect Christmas? I spent most of my childhood and young adult life caught up in the horrible whirlwind of tension, perfectionism, and regret that my parents generated in the vain attempt to capture that television ideal, the perfect Christmas.
Now mind you it wasn't really their fault. They both grew up during the depression, my father in abject poverty, my mother in the hospital suffering from juvenile arthritis. My dad told me once that all he got for Christmas was a box of eight crayons and a cheap coloring book. He didn't say this to make me sad, he simply was relating a fact. But I believe it was this depravation, and the advent of television (on which perfect Christmases were a regular, seemingly normal event), that drove my parents to such extremes.
About one day after Thanksgiving, my mother would declare, "This will be the best Christmas ever!" As kids we were delighted and imagined unlimited supplies of candy and all the toys we wanted, but as we grew up, and our mother grew more desperate, we shuddered at this declaration. The transformation our home underwent due to dusty, cardboard boxes (which seemed to multiply in number and expense) full of Christmas decorations and lights, was magical. My mother's constant fussing and invariable disappointment was not.
You see they were trying to capture something they had never really seen. All those TV shows with the magical endings, these were all they had to go on. Like those cheap little airplanes you wind with a rubber band, the tension would continue to mount, until Christmas Eve when it reached a fevered pitch. I remember the worst year, the last year for me, was when my little brother pulled a piece of turkey off the delicious main course, and my father, who was carving it, chased him down the hall with the electric knife still in hand. Of course it was unplugged, but a little over the top anyway.
My family had to seriously reconsider their approach to holidays. We sat around and talked about what we really liked about Christmas. My father got out the Bible and read the story of the birth of Christ. There were no lights or wreaths or choo-choo trains, just an incredible gift of God's love. My oldest brother said he liked singing Christmas carols while we washed the china, after dinner. He got out his guitar and played a few. Already, our Christmas was changing. I said I loved it when it snowed. And for me, I suppose this is what made this truly, "the best Christmas ever".
We looked out our second story window, and there on the neighbor's lawn, silhouetted by lamplight, stood three deer, searching for food beneath the snow. In the streetlight's glare we could all see the huge snowflakes falling so softly, and the deer, as if God were sending us a message of peace and the beauty of his creations. We were spellbound. I don't know how long we watched this scene, but soon the scent of the Turkey overwhelmed my little brother and he began pulling on sleeves and reminding us of the feast that awaited us.
As we all went downstairs, we didn't notice the decorations or the Mechanical Santa and elves, instead, our eyes were for each other, and the love we shared. We ate and laughed and only once did my mother apologize for the food. And, hearing herself, she began laughing too.
I have tried to maintain these important lessons learned on a Christmas years ago. We keep our celebrations simple, eat what we want, and bask in each other's love. Although I have never again seen deer congregated on a white lawn, under the beautiful effervescence of a streetlight creating a halo of warmth, I have heard my children sing, seen them jump for joy, and even watched as they quietly listened to the Christmas story. While we have created rituals of our own, (like our nativity play made with old clothes, sheets, and dish towels, or not putting presents under the tree until the kids are all tucked in) we try to remember the spirit of the season.
After all, the best Christmas ever was the first, don't you agree?
- Mindy Tracy