(46) Tis The Season

“Dad, is this going to take long? I have things I have to do tonight!” I gaze through the darkness at Olivia’s perfectly protruded lips now formed into a tight pout. My mother turns the knob of the nearby lamp so that soon the music room is bathed with light and takes her usual perch on the edge of the black piano bench, indicating that a Knight family counsel is about to commence.

“How about we start tonight with a Christmas carol?” My dad replies, sitting slowly down atop the room’s light pink, toile auto Mann after gently yanking the creases of his pants so that he can rest comfortably

“Dad it is only the second of December.” I murmur. We usually begin each family meeting with a hymn from an old book my mother has had ever since she was a child. I am not sure exactly how this tradition of singing came to be or even how the routine of having these “family counsels” got started. Quite possibly they are both results from one of the numerous parenting books my parents have read by random psychologists who profess to have an understanding of basic teenagers.

“How about “Hark the Herald Angels Sing?” My mother offers, flipping her long graceful fingers through the many pages of our family holiday songbook.

“Great.” My dad replies. “Let’s all gather around the piano. With a gleam of my mother’s wedding ring, her hands begin to lightly tap the ivory keys and the familiar melody of the song begins to fill the room. We begin to softly sing along, side by and soon all business presentations, homework, and tennis scores are forgotten as an incredible feeling of love and peace envelopes all of our hearts.

After three verses have been crooned, we return to our various spots of the room and immediately my dad begins to speak. “First, I just want to ask the question of what the true meaning of Christmas is and why we celebrate it.”
“Dad, we know,” Olivia cuts in, “ Mary rode a donkey with Joseph to an inn, had Jesus in a stable, and a bunch of wise men came to see him. So, on December twenty-fifth we celebrate that event and give each other gifts to let each other know how much we care about one another.”

My dad’s brows deeply furrow. “Okay, well maybe that wasn’t the best approach.” He looks along the edges of the floor’s wooden panels and then takes a deep breath. “I’m going to tell you a story that I believe you’ve never heard of before, girls. As you know my mother and father divorced when I was at a young age of about seven years. For an extended period of time my father neglected to send our family any money, forcing my mother to work for her own father during the day and at the sugar refinery at night in order to make ends meet. There was one particular Christmas when I was nine, when the furnace broke. Not being able to afford the expenses of getting it fixed, my mother, brother, sister, and I had to keep ourselves warm from the use of the fireplaces.

I remember on Christmas Eve, my mother and older sister worked through the hours of several nights making little crafts and things so we could have some sort of presents to open the next morning. Simple wrapping paper was too costly, so instead we bundled our homely gifts in tin foil and the Sunday paper’s funnies.” My dad let a few seconds of silence pass pay, appearing to be deep in thought, and then continued.

“At one point during the evening your uncle Joe sang the tune of “Joy to the world because it was my Mother’s favorite. At first when he started singing, I just couldn’t help but feel really bitter. I remember demanding inside my head, What joy? There’s not much joy under this bare, little tree, not in this freezing house. But then, something quite unexpected happened. Something inside of me lit up and I looked at my beautiful mother, her face lit by the hearth, my sisters and brother and somehow I knew that everything was going to be all right. For a brief moment during that frigid winter of 1969, I put aside all my fears, and thoughts of the cold. That moment that rickety little house was heated, warm with a love that lingered among its walls. That Christmas for the first time I realized that my family and the love we felt for one another was worth more to me than all the gift laden Christmas trees in all the grand homes of Chestnut Hill.

We have so much to be thankful for this holiday season, especially with all that has occurred from September 11th. I have a good job, we’re all safe, but I just wouldn’t feel right about continuing to have a Christmas this year with the extravagance that we usually do, there’s just too much loss and sadness in the world right now. “

I immediately shoot my eyes towards my sisters’. Extravagance? What does that entail? Suddenly Britney’s voice echoes through out my mind. “What did you get for Christmas, Daria? Me? Oh I got an MP3 player, a cell phone, this Tiffany bracelet, a couple of sweaters, this new key-chain, and a VCR for my television…”As her list continues swirling around my head my dad continues to talk.

“This year, I want our family to place emphasis on what we gave rather than what we got. A few small gifts are fine, but the majority of the money we spend this year I think should go to someone beside ourselves.
Britney’s tone continues in my brain so that I can no longer hear my father… “Some CDS, money from my grandparents, a bunch of gift certificates, a DVD player…a car, a house, the state of Florida…”

“Does anyone have any ideas?” My sister and I look back at him blankly. Is he serious? A few small gifts? I look down at my hands, twisting them in my lap. “Well if no one has any, I do.” My dad replies. “A man I work with is friends with a couple that live on the southern tip of New York City who could use our help this Christmas. During our lunch hour today we went over to bring them a few items of groceries.” My dad pauses to inspect our reactions, but Olivia and I are only dumbfounded at what we are hearing. He continues. “They’re a lovely couple, Chris and Kate, and they have three small children. Chris though, is unemployed. As I sat in the tiny area of their living room, I couldn’t help but feel an immense sadness for how hard it is going to be for them this December and how much our own family takes for granted. I personally feel inspired that these are the people we can offer ourselves to. ”

I look at my father. I know he’s right. From the clothes we wear, the food we eat, the possessions we have, and the cars we drive, my family has so much. There are many things we take for granted, things we hardly give a second thought.

“The question is, how can we help?” My dad glances at each of our faces, pleadingly, almost begging for us to offer some help in all of this. I tell myself that I cannot remain so self-absorbed, so ungrateful for what I have, and so unwilling to share it.

“We could buy a small Christmas tree and decorate it for them.” I offer. Immediately my father glows with appreciation. My older sister hesitates and then mumbles a suggestion of buying them presents and my mother offers her baking abilities.

“Fantastic.” My dad begins jotting things down on a yellow legal pad as my family begins to chatter with newfound excitement about how we can make another family’s Christmas more meaningful. Suddenly there is this wonderful feeling inside of me at such ideas. No, this new definition of holiday cheer is not going to be easy especially with the typical traditions of society, but I’m almost looking forward to the difference. A different kind of joy will be discovered, way beyond any expensive material purchase. The happiness that will be evident on such young children’s’ faces will out weigh any large package wrapped up elegantly in festive wrapping paper under the tree. The gift of giving will be our reward.

Our family gets up to head for the kitchen, where we partake of the apple pie that was picked up at the bakery for refreshments. As we sit together, the spirit of love and service can still be felt through out the walls of our home and I am determined to not let it die as the rest of the month passes. It is only the first week of December and already the anticipation for the holidays is great with such a profound new focus on giving to others. After all, tis the season.