The Magic of Christmas

from November 11, 2009

As I was out Christmas shopping earlier, I put on my Josh Groban CD to get me in the mood. I was so calm and relaxed, and like every year, I loved every second of wandering throughout he stores - seeing all the decorations, the wrapping paper, even the holiday china and festive cat toys. It seems like everywhere you go, the world is ensconced in red and green and things that sparkle.

I know that my love of Christmas goes much deeper than the mere trappings of the season - although I certainly love those too. My love goes back to childhood.

I grew up in a fairly poor family, and by fairly poor, I mean there were times that the food we ate was from a food pantry somewhere. When I was really young it never bothered me because I never understood it, never knew anything else was possible. But little by little, as I grew up, I got caught up in the commercialism of the holidays. I wanted the Barbie Dream house and a new bike, new clothes. I wanted. And while I understood that wanting didn't mean I was getting, I still wanted.

I was thinking of this as I took a break from my shopping to have a cup of coffee at Starbuck's while I pondered my lists and sales flyers - making notes.

And somewhere in the midst of thinking about all the ridiculous things my children have asked for this year, I thought about the gifts I used to ask for - and the ones I used to get. Every year, without fail, I got clothes from my grandparents. Because in a poor family with four kids, we always needed clothes. And I hated getting them simply because we needed them - it seemed to me (in my childish mind) that Christmas was the time to splurge and get things you really dreamed of having - not the things you needed.

Now at this point I should also mention that they were always handmade: sweaters, pant suits, even pajamas. Of course came the mandatory photo sessions, but then I always tried to bury them and forget them. As if wearing them was like announcing to the world that we were too poor to buy real clothes.

With age and time certainly comes perspective and wisdom - and just as often regret. As a wife and mother of three, I know there are times it is difficult to juggle all of our needs financially. During the early years of our marriage money was tight and often need overrode desire. I understood my own childhood and circumstances in ways I never did - or could - as a child.

And it fills me with terrible shame when I think of how embarrassed I was by those homemade gifts from my family. To know that my mother wore the same clothes for years and scrimped and saved for months to be able to afford the gifts we did receive at Christmas. That she often stayed up late into the night making presents for my brothers and I so that she could surprise us. Or how sick my grandmother was with cancer when she was knitting those hats I was too embarrassed to wear.

I know now how ungrateful I was, and how badly I must have hurt them when I so quickly brushed aside the gifts they had worked and struggled so hard to provide. And I would give anything to take that back - to go back in time and wear every silly ski mask and know that I was wrapped up in the love of the two women who gave me everything they could. I would know that it took LOVE to let me help make my favorite Christmas cookies while completely messing up the kitchen, or making my favorite apple pie, or freezing while they took us ice skating or sledding.

So, yes, we were poor, but my mother gave me everything I needed - time, love, and an understanding of the joy and peace the Christmas season brings. And maybe most importantly, she taught me the happiness you can only have by giving - not receiving.