I am a punk from the ninth ward who escaped from the neighborhood. I am now living up to my potential despite the dire predictions of my teachers in the fifties and sixties.
The accolades, go to my mother who pushed 7 smart, scrappy and sometimes reluctant children into the world armed only with love and tenacity. Our father died when I was 13 and my youngest sister was 2. He left behind a small pension from the Coast Guard, a monthly Social Security check, a mortgage, a car that ran long enough to take a ride to the Lake every few months, 5 daughters and 2 sons who had never really gotten to know him.
Despite her sorrow, my mother, a petite, truly beautiful woman breathed deeply, wiped her eyes and showed the neighborhood what an obstinate, persistent and bitter sweet Irish Catholic lady had to offer. She would have made a great entrepreneur in today’s world.
We on the other hand, proceeded to test her poise, composure and self-control in every manner known to childhood. In return, she tossed values, faith, respect and purpose back at us. Fortunately for us they stuck like sticky balls on Velcro. Education was the most awesome secret she shared. She impressed on us that it was the door to the future and would set us free. It was and it did.
At Christmas time, I remember how she turned hard candy Christmases into enchanting Southern feasts that would challenge even a Hallmark Christmas scene. Oyster soup, turkey legs to fight over, white bread stuffing, green peas, two-layered homemade cake whose top layer slid slowly off the bottom layer, eggnog and Kool-Aid. All of us sat in our special chairs around the table made big enough with the leaf inserted. We always ate as a family.
The highlight was our real, falling-needle pine Christmas tree that commandeered the space between the sofa bed where my sister and I slept and the matching green chair. My Father had invented a tree stand that rotated the tree, displaying all of the shiny, glittery ornaments, sparkling array of lights and tinsel as it turned slowly. The tinsel swayed as the tree moved making shimmering patterns that danced around the room. Since it was impossible to get to sleep on Christmas eve, I would pick a round ornament, usually red, to stare at until I fell asleep. I was amazed at the panorama of my face and my one-room-world reflected back at me. I looked weird, but everything else was expansive, colorful, warm and welcoming. Everything I needed and loved was wrapped up in that Christmas knick-knack.
On Christmas Eve, Santa brought wished-for presents to the littlest ones. My older sister and I got stockings, a staple for prim and proper young ladies to wear to church. Our Uncle Albert, my Mother’s brother who lived around the corner, always laid out gifts wrapped in tissue along the length of the sofa in his living room. It was like a smorgasbord of unexpected wonders to explore.
Today, our family and extended families are scattered over the world. We split Christmas day, dinner at mom’s side of the family and supper at Dad’s. We travel long distances to be together and sometimes we are not able to be with the ones we love the most. It’s just the way it is. Too busy, too expensive, too stressful, too many options and obligations. Certainly, too much missed and never recovered.
Treasure the memories you share and bring them out whenever you are lonely, sad, scared or lost. They are the best Christmas gift you will ever receive.
What stands out amongst your Christmas memories?
Since its Christmas, here are three sophisticated puns for you:
What do snowmen eat for breakfast? Snowflakes.
What do you call a chicken at the North Pole? Lost.
What would you get if you ate the Christmas decorations? Tinselitis.
Have a Blessed Christmas!