Reflections: Holiday Celebrations in Childhood

Events of the morning led me to a memory of my family’s holiday traditions and inevitably to thoughts about Santa, aka my dad.

 

It all started with my posting to Facebook a photo of this year’s tree—illuminated with tiny, white lights and cherished ornaments (memories of Christmases gone by)—and a simple message wishing friends a happy holiday and a prosperous 2016.  Then, with a stack of unwrapped holiday gifts awaiting my attention, I climbed my trusty step stool to search the top shelf of the hall closet for leftover wrapping paper.  While my paper hunt came up short, I found something that meant so much more.  There they were, stacked neatly on the shelf: children’s books too special to pass along or give away—books that contributed to shaping my young children.

Among this beloved treasure trove of children’s literature was a United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) book titled Celebrations! Festivals, carnivals, and feast days from around the world.  Fresh, innocent faces of children from all over the globe graced the cover, their celebrations warmly conveyed through stories and photos.  The book’s authors, Barnabas and Anabel Kindersley, traveled for a year to 18 different countries, and the celebrations featured are unique to a particular country, culture, or religion.  Page after page served as a reminder of the similarities and the differences among countries, cultures, and religions.

As I leafed through the book’s pages—country after country—I wondered about the various cultures, traditions and childhood memories of my LinkedIn and Blog followers and wanted to know more.

So, with the holidays upon us, I invite you to share a memory of your family’s celebrations—good or bad, poignant or silly, sacred or secular.  I’ll begin by recounting one of my own.

It was days before the holiday and I was sitting on the bottom step of the stairs just outside my family’s living room.  I was perhaps just four years old.  The doorway was covered with a white sheet, enabling Santa (my dad) to construct the three-tier platform that would become a charming Christmas village laid out beneath the tree on Christmas morning. 

“Santa” and I talked all during the mysterious construction phase.  “But why can’t I help you, Santa?” I asked.  “Ho, ho, ho,” he answered in a very deep voice. “I’m working hard to surprise you on Christmas morning. If you help me, it won’t be a surprise.”  Exhausted by my unending questions (yes, I questioned everything, even then), Santa finally said, “Let’s be quiet now—I need to think about making Christmas fun for you and all of the other children on my list.”

My father handmade the elements of the Christmas village—the houses, the grocery store and the church, even the train trestle and the exterior fencing that prevented the authentic-looking, plastic snow from falling on the carpet.  Dad built mountains out of brown paper—perfectly crunched to represent a rugged terrain towering behind the village.  He “relocated” the wall mirror from my parents’ bedroom to create a skating rink, complete with skaters, and used one of my mother’s kitchen pans for a swimming pool, also complete with swimmers. The village was populated with small, metal people, pets, cars, taxis and busses. The noisy, electric train that traveled the circumference of the village—circling the tree over and over again—was great fun to operate. 

    

Although photos of that Christmas village have long since disappeared, the memories of my dad and my childhood Christmas tree remain in my heart.

If you are celebrating a holiday this season, I wish you a happy holiday, and a new year filled with all good things.

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Posted on LinkedIn 12/23/15