[title subtitle=”WORDS Sarah Phillips-Burger
IMAGE Guschenkova”][/title]
Theirs was a tradition that started many years ago, on their first Christmas as husband and wife. Sitting in their new apartment, Rachel and Nate decorated their small tree, leaving the “First Christmas Together” ornament for last, which they placed front and center. Through the years, the tradition grew, as did their family, their home and the size of their Christmas tree, until a firm pattern emerged.
It was always the last day of school, and Christmas break was just beginning. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeerplayed on the television. The four of them, Rachel, Nate, and their two children, Thomas and Grace, watched the show as they drank cocoa and cuddled on the couch in footie pajamas. After, they finished the Christmas tree decorating, placing their most special ornaments, which included all of their family’s “firsts” throughout the years, on last.
Every year, the children made new ornaments. Over the years, they managed to fill a large plastic bin with ornaments which were carefully unpacked and placed on the tree. They made sleds out of popsicle sticks, candy canes out of beads and pipe cleaners. Santa faces were drawn on white painted wood, clear globes were filled with the printed words of their favorite books, and tiny handprints were pushed into clay and tied with red ribbon.
Mementos from family vacations were included; a seashell from Florida, a white pinecone from Maine, a ceramic sloth from a trip to the Little Rock Zoo. This year, the kids pressed their hands into white paint, then pressed their hands onto a globe, leaving behind white handprints. After the paint dried, they added hats and scarves and faces to their fingerprints, making them into snowmen. And, as always, the ornaments were finished off with their names and the year.
When they finished, they all stood in front of the tree and captured the moment in a picture that was placed in their Christmas family album. Rachel looked at these pictures occasionally, marveling at just how much different her children looked from one year to the next, how fast they had grown. They both had their father’s eyes and smile, and her dark hair. She hoped, as she did every year, that they could always be this happy.
Thomas was now fifteen and openly expressed his lack of interest in their tradition, but went along with it anyway because his sister, Grace, loved it. She turned eight this year and always looked forward to this small bit of quiet time, just the four of them, before rushing off to visit various relatives over the next week. This is what Rachel loved most about it, too.
Tonight, they had an unusually solemn dinner. Normally, Grace babbled so much at the table that she had to be reminded to eat her food. But, tonight, she was quiet. The mood was shared by her brother and her exhausted parents, making their normally comforting meal feel bland and cold.
After dinner, Rachel started the homemade cocoa, hoping to warm up their evening. She put the sugar, cocoa and water into the pot and stirred. While it warmed, she opened the marshmallows, popping a few into her mouth. She found the canned whipped cream in the back of the fridge, checked the expiration date, and brought out the gallon of milk. Four cups of milk were added to the pot which she stirred every few minutes. She found the mugs shaped like Santa’s head and lined them up on the counter. Once the cocoa started to steam, Rachel tested its warmth with her finger and turned off the burner.
Normally, Grace was the first in her footie pajamas, impatiently waiting on the couch for everyone to join her for a snuggle. But when Rachel passed through the living room on the way to find the movie, she found her daughter lying on her back with her head under the Christmas tree. She was still in her school clothes, a brown corduroy dress with hunter green tights, her arms crossed at the chest.
“Whatcha doin’, Grace?” Rachel asked. Grace didn’t answer, preferring instead to let out a sigh that seemed to last for days. Rachel tossed the red kitchen towel onto the bar, then dropped to her knees to get a better look at her daughter. When Grace didn’t look at her, Rachel laid on her back and inched her way under the tree, mirroring her daughter. “What’s going on, baby?”
“Today at school, we had our Christmas party. Santa was there giving out gifts and everyone was having fun and then a boy named Marcus told me that Santa isn’t real.”
“Okay.”
“And then I asked Thomas, and he said it was true.”
Rachel closed her eyes, vowing to have a talk with him later.
“Mom,” Grace asked, the white tree lights sparkling in her brown eyes, “is it true?”
Rachel took a deep breath and looked at her daughter. “Yes.”
Grace pulled her arms in tighter.
Trying to reassure her, Rachel said, “You still get presents, even if Santa isn’t real.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s got you so upset?”
Grace breathed deep, as her bottom lip trembled, “That you and Dad lied to me.” She said it so quietly that Rachel almost didn’t hear her. She turned and looked up at the lights again and tried to figure out a way to explain this to her daughter, a way to preserve the holiday that she loved so much.
“Honestly, I thought you would have figured it out a long time ago,” Rachel started. “What’s your favorite thing to do besides opening up your presents?”
Grace’s eyes squinted as she thought. “Buying gifts for the Angel Tree.”
“Right. Every year, we pick out an angel from the tree at the mall, a family that needs help with Christmas that year.”
“And that family always has a little girl my age and I get to pick out her toys and things,” Grace added with a smile.
“So, really, you’re being Santa for that little girl.”
Grace sighed again, bringing her hands to her face to push her bangs out of her eyes. “Then why do we say that Santa did it?”
Rachel rolled back and looked at the lights again. “Christmas is a lot of things.” She raised one finger up to touch a white light, “it’s lights,” and her finger moved to a different light, “and it’s decorations.” Another light was touched, “it’s food,” and another, “and family.” “It’s giving,” she said with the touch of another light.
“And receiving,” Grace said as she touched a light with her own finger.
“It’s love,” said Rachel.
“And happiness,” said Grace.
“It’s our hope.”
“And our faith.”
“It’s cookies.”
“And gingerbread houses.”
“It’s moms.”
“And dads.”
“Grandmas.”
“And Grandpas.”
“Jingle Bells.”
“And Deck the Halls.”
They pointed to one light after another, naming their favorite things about Christmas until Rachel pointed at a light and said, “It’s Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”
Grace followed with, “And cocoa.”
They turned towards each other, and Rachel pushed fallen hair off her daughter’s face, tucking it behind her ear. “Christmas is so many different things to different people.” She waved her hand across the lights above them. “We take all of those things and put them in one happy, old man named Santa.”
“Is that why he’s so fat?” Grace giggled and covered her mouth.
“Could be.” Rachel laughed. “I guess it’s just easier for adults to explain to little kids that way. Christmas iskind of big.”
Grace reached up and touched another light, “So, Santa isreal, then?”
“Absolutely.”
“What’s going on down here?” Nate asked before he and Thomas laid down and squeezed their heads under the tree beside Grace and Rachel. They were both already in their footie pajamas, one red like Santa and the other green like the Grinch, and Rachel could hear popcorn popping in the microwave.
“Just talking about Santa and Christmas,” Rachel replied, winking at Grace.
“It’s pretty cool down here,” said Thomas as he looked at his little sister, “maybe we can make this part of the tradition, too.”
“Are you excited for Santa to visit this year?” Nate asked his daughter.
“I think he already has,” Grace smiled.
