The day before Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve was always the best— heightened feelings, anticipation, a general atmosphere of excitement.
When I was in elementary and high school, depending on what day of the week Christmas fell, we sometimes had school on Christmas Eve. The last day before Christmas break in Catholic school was great. We were each given a little booklet of Christmas carols and some part of the day was devoted to singing. There was candy and high spirits. I won’t go so far as to say it was the scene in A Christmas Carol where Mr. Fezziwig (what a glorious name!) throws a party of dancing and gaiety for a few pounds—but it was a day of joy. First graders had the privilege of putting on a Nativity for the whole school to attend. There were so many children in my first grade class, that, of course, not everyone could dress as a shepherd or a wise man. The coveted role of Mary went to a tall girl with long dark hair. I got to be an usher, which was a consolation prize, but still, I got to be part of the action. I didn’t have to wear my gray plaid uniform that day. My mother dressed me in a red sweater and red plaid jumper and made a necklace of jingle bells for my role of handing out programs to the hoards of big kids who came for the performance.
In the early grades we were given ‘mite’ boxes to collect the coins we would have spent on candy to be collected to give to charity. It occurs to me that a large part of our education in baby-boomer Catholic school was consciousness of the poor. In preparation for Christmas the re-telling of the story always involved the reduced circumstances of Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus. Part of our preparation, Advent, in those early years was to forestall indulging in things like candy as a preparation for the great celebration of Christmas. This tradition fell away over the years, I think around the time stores started hanging lights and trees and. playing Jingle Bells as soon as Halloween costumes were put away.
I don’t remember Christmas being about what presents I wanted. I was part of a big family, the fourth of six children. In those days, almost everyone I knew was one of many children. The fun of it was the element of the supernatural, not just of Santa, though Santa was important, but the angels and shepherds and wise men. sitting near the lit Christmas tree in the dark, grandparents coming over, the good dishes set out on the table, dressing up for dinner. On Christmas Day my father made Manhattans for the adults—sometimes we had the three grandmothers— Aunt Jule was counted as one of the grandmothers— and Aunt Loretta and Uncle Charlie. We little kids would pick an old person and sit on the floor near them in the high hope of being gifted with a Maraschino cherry that marinated in the bottom of their Manhattan. I wonder if Dad put in more than one cherry for this little ritual?