It's late. I'm tired. It's possible that this will be riddled with nonsense and typos. Apologies. I just can't not write on Christmas Eve. One of my mom's favorite times.
Growing up, Christmas Eve was a party. I'm not entirely sure how the tradition began. Chances are it was my mom's brain child. The fact that it involved costumes, performances, and gaudy Christmas gifts are all signs toward a Pam-planned event, but I don't want to go on record giving her credit without knowing for sure. Anyhow. Christmas Eve was a huge deal. It was the moment all of the kids got to perform The Night Before Christmas. We all knew our roles, the girls played the sugar plums, the oldest played Santa, and the youngest played baby Cheezits (small and honest mistake between the center of Christianity and a cheese-flavored snack). It was also the one night a year dad busted out his trumpet and "performed" Christmas tunes. We all sang along. Probably sounded as good as the trumpet. And then of course we all had to wear the "Christmas craft" which all of the girls/women had worked very hard on the night before to make as gaudy and horrifying as possible. There was the year of the reindeer socks, the year of the elf collars, the year of the fairy crowns... the list goes on. But most importantly, it was the thing that first defined family for me. We all know I don't have a huge family, at least not in the "people who share similar genetic material" sort of way. But mom made damn sure that I had family in the "you'll never feel alone or unloved" sort of way. I grew up sharing Christmas Eve with family. For that I can't thank her enough.
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
No comments:
Post a Comment