Christmas Quartet
Jan. 1st, 2008 09:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947Christmas was never just one day, or a single event; it was an evolving series of vignettes that changed over time. I can see now why it’s called the Christmas Season; it has more in common with a cyclical seasonal experience than a singular religious or secular event like Easter or Thanksgiving. Christmas is a fifth season, occurring sometime during autumn and winter, and perceived by its special climate of anticipation and preparation, colorful decorations and gifting, celebration and songs, family and friendship, and wonder and delight. Christmas is my favorite time. On occasion, I will admit that I enjoyed it most when I was a child, and when Prisa and Tony were experiencing it as children. Perhaps it is our youthful perspective that makes this celebration so timeless and special. When I was a child, Christmas Time began after the Thanksgiving Day parade and the arrival of Santa Claus, waned after the Rose Bowl Game on New Years Day, and ended on the feast of the Epiphany (the feast of the Three Kings). The glowing embers of Christmas would last as long as my new toys did, and then die until the next year. In my early childhood years, Christmas centered on four particular events: building a Nacimiento, celebrating Posadas, awakening to Christmas Morning, and meeting for Christmas dinner and family gifts.
A nacimiento is the iconic nativity scene of Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus in a stable. Before the spreading influence of the American Christmas tree, Mexican families used the nacimiento as the central image of Christmas. They would place a nacimiento piece in a prominent location in their homes, or construct a miniature diorama for free standing figures, of various sizes. My grandparents brought this tradition to Los Angeles, and every year they built a scale model of the nativity scene in their living room. For me, the nacimiento of my abuelos was more of a process than a product (see Nacimiento Stories). The construction of the nacimiento would begin soon after Thanksgiving, and culminate on Christmas Eve. All of my aunts and uncles, single or married, were involved in the effort. It usually took three weeks to complete. Every Saturday or Sunday we visited, I checked on the progress of the nacimiento. It was my timer to Christmas. As the setting became more elaborate and ornate, as the overhanging frame filled with painted sky, angel hair, and tinsel, and as more and more figurines and scenery populated the diorama, I knew Christmas was coming.
The nativity scene would officially debut on the night of Posadas, Christmas Eve. On that occasion my grandparents would host a late-hour, adult-only party to celebrate the completion of the diorama, reenact the nativity tale (posadas) in song and movement, feast on tamales, enchiladas, pollo con mole, arroz, frijoles, bunuelos and churros, and go to midnight mass. I would see all the culinary and logistical preparations the morning of the party, and long to be part of the evening festivities. My exclusion typed me as a child held captive by the belief that “good girls and boys” had to be asleep on Christmas Eve or Santa Claus would pass them by without leaving toys and gifts. Even when I solved the North Pole mystery, the insistent faith of my younger siblings held sway, and I was quarantined from this adult event until high school.
The earliest Christmas mornings I recall were on the cold, hard floor of our triplex living room on Cove Ave. From 1955 to 1959, we lived in a first floor flat in the Silver Lake section of Los Angeles. It was here, on icy mornings, that Tito, Tita, Gracie, Eddie, and I would tiptoe on frozen feet to seek the toys and presents left by Santa under the Christmas tree. Once discovered, and viewed, we contrived the least irritating way to awaken our parents so we could open or play with our toys. Christmas was not a rip and shred event. My mother required an orchestrated ritual where each of us, one by one, opened, appreciated our gifts, and complimented the gifts of others. I remember years of baseball gloves, footballs, western pistols and rifles (Fanner 50’s and Winchesters were big one year), and an on-going series of plastic toy figurines of WW II soldiers, Fort Apache cavalry and Indians, King Arthur knights and castle, and pirates. These were the toys that allowed me make-believe stories and situations to imagine, create or act out, alone or with others.
Sometime after lunch, my mom would direct us to store our toys so we could go to my grandparent’s house for Christmas dinner and a second phase of gifts. This was the family gift exchange, unrelated to the Santa Claus condition of being “naughty or nice”. These were gifts we received for just being family. A system had been devised to insure that every adult in the family exchanged a gift with another adult, and that each child under 16 received one as well (the burden fell on adults, since, it was assumed, children did not have the means to purchase gifts). It was an exceptionally sweet deal for children, with the added bonus of nino gifts. These were extra presents a godchild received from their padrino, or godparent (if the godparents was a family member, or still made an effort to stay connected to their godchild). After a Christmas dinner of leftover tamales, enchiladas, pollo con mole, arroz, frijoles, bunuelos and churros, we would gather in a huge circle in the living room. There, in front of the nacimiento, a designated Master of Ceremony would direct the unwrapping and appreciation of gifts, person by person (the most irritating MC’s insisted on opening gifts so as to save wrapping paper for the following year). It was a ritual where the name of the recipient was called, along with the giver. The gifted person opened the present before the attentive family audience, which was encouraged to verbally praise, comment, or make jokes. The recipient was then required to search out the gift-giver and give them a proper beso y abrazo, a hug and a kiss of appreciation and thanks. It was a great system at first, but began breaking down as the number of nieces and nephews increased and grew older, and when our grandparents were unable to host the family gathering.
This was my first childhood Christmas Quartet; the four events that evoked Christmas from earliest memories through college. Time and human events were the biggest factor in their evolution; the deaths of my father and grandparents, Gracie’s marriage to Danny, Tito’s to Elia, and mine to Kathy, and then having children and families of our own. These four practices changed, slowed to infrequent participation, and then finally stopped altogether (as in the case of nacimientos, posadas, and mega-family Christmas dinners and gifts). Oddly enough, as I look at this Christmas season of 2007, I am struck by the existence of a new quartet of occasions that have become significant in my life, and in our family’s celebration of Christmas. They bear some similarity to the events of my youth, but, for the most part, they are different. We call them Christmas Adam, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and Boxing Day, and each involves a different family, and deserves a separate tale. It’s my intention to describe these reunions during the first weeks (or months) of the New Year. Happy New Year!
A nacimiento is the iconic nativity scene of Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus in a stable. Before the spreading influence of the American Christmas tree, Mexican families used the nacimiento as the central image of Christmas. They would place a nacimiento piece in a prominent location in their homes, or construct a miniature diorama for free standing figures, of various sizes. My grandparents brought this tradition to Los Angeles, and every year they built a scale model of the nativity scene in their living room. For me, the nacimiento of my abuelos was more of a process than a product (see Nacimiento Stories). The construction of the nacimiento would begin soon after Thanksgiving, and culminate on Christmas Eve. All of my aunts and uncles, single or married, were involved in the effort. It usually took three weeks to complete. Every Saturday or Sunday we visited, I checked on the progress of the nacimiento. It was my timer to Christmas. As the setting became more elaborate and ornate, as the overhanging frame filled with painted sky, angel hair, and tinsel, and as more and more figurines and scenery populated the diorama, I knew Christmas was coming.
The nativity scene would officially debut on the night of Posadas, Christmas Eve. On that occasion my grandparents would host a late-hour, adult-only party to celebrate the completion of the diorama, reenact the nativity tale (posadas) in song and movement, feast on tamales, enchiladas, pollo con mole, arroz, frijoles, bunuelos and churros, and go to midnight mass. I would see all the culinary and logistical preparations the morning of the party, and long to be part of the evening festivities. My exclusion typed me as a child held captive by the belief that “good girls and boys” had to be asleep on Christmas Eve or Santa Claus would pass them by without leaving toys and gifts. Even when I solved the North Pole mystery, the insistent faith of my younger siblings held sway, and I was quarantined from this adult event until high school.
The earliest Christmas mornings I recall were on the cold, hard floor of our triplex living room on Cove Ave. From 1955 to 1959, we lived in a first floor flat in the Silver Lake section of Los Angeles. It was here, on icy mornings, that Tito, Tita, Gracie, Eddie, and I would tiptoe on frozen feet to seek the toys and presents left by Santa under the Christmas tree. Once discovered, and viewed, we contrived the least irritating way to awaken our parents so we could open or play with our toys. Christmas was not a rip and shred event. My mother required an orchestrated ritual where each of us, one by one, opened, appreciated our gifts, and complimented the gifts of others. I remember years of baseball gloves, footballs, western pistols and rifles (Fanner 50’s and Winchesters were big one year), and an on-going series of plastic toy figurines of WW II soldiers, Fort Apache cavalry and Indians, King Arthur knights and castle, and pirates. These were the toys that allowed me make-believe stories and situations to imagine, create or act out, alone or with others.
Sometime after lunch, my mom would direct us to store our toys so we could go to my grandparent’s house for Christmas dinner and a second phase of gifts. This was the family gift exchange, unrelated to the Santa Claus condition of being “naughty or nice”. These were gifts we received for just being family. A system had been devised to insure that every adult in the family exchanged a gift with another adult, and that each child under 16 received one as well (the burden fell on adults, since, it was assumed, children did not have the means to purchase gifts). It was an exceptionally sweet deal for children, with the added bonus of nino gifts. These were extra presents a godchild received from their padrino, or godparent (if the godparents was a family member, or still made an effort to stay connected to their godchild). After a Christmas dinner of leftover tamales, enchiladas, pollo con mole, arroz, frijoles, bunuelos and churros, we would gather in a huge circle in the living room. There, in front of the nacimiento, a designated Master of Ceremony would direct the unwrapping and appreciation of gifts, person by person (the most irritating MC’s insisted on opening gifts so as to save wrapping paper for the following year). It was a ritual where the name of the recipient was called, along with the giver. The gifted person opened the present before the attentive family audience, which was encouraged to verbally praise, comment, or make jokes. The recipient was then required to search out the gift-giver and give them a proper beso y abrazo, a hug and a kiss of appreciation and thanks. It was a great system at first, but began breaking down as the number of nieces and nephews increased and grew older, and when our grandparents were unable to host the family gathering.
This was my first childhood Christmas Quartet; the four events that evoked Christmas from earliest memories through college. Time and human events were the biggest factor in their evolution; the deaths of my father and grandparents, Gracie’s marriage to Danny, Tito’s to Elia, and mine to Kathy, and then having children and families of our own. These four practices changed, slowed to infrequent participation, and then finally stopped altogether (as in the case of nacimientos, posadas, and mega-family Christmas dinners and gifts). Oddly enough, as I look at this Christmas season of 2007, I am struck by the existence of a new quartet of occasions that have become significant in my life, and in our family’s celebration of Christmas. They bear some similarity to the events of my youth, but, for the most part, they are different. We call them Christmas Adam, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and Boxing Day, and each involves a different family, and deserves a separate tale. It’s my intention to describe these reunions during the first weeks (or months) of the New Year. Happy New Year!
