It was 1986 on Christmas eve in Columbus Ga. My entire family including aunts, uncles, cousins and friends crammed into my papaw’s two bedroom apartment for lasagna and gifts. My grandmother, who I named Morning when I was a toddler, came up with the tradition of lasagna on Christmas eve. Morning was an artist and quite honestly a bit of a loon. Thinking outside of the box was a natural thing for her and cooking a traditional turkey or ham was just way too normal. However, it was incredible lasagna and my family cooks the same recipe on Christmas eve to this day. My papaw was a large man both in size and personality and he was literally the center of the room. Kids would take turns snuggling up next to him and he would tell stories about the good ol days. Eventually, the kids would always end up in the front yard…often times with my uncle throwing the football. I still have the crooked pinky from catching the football the wrong way that night. My uncle was just about 10 years older than us, he went to college and drove a trans am. That made him the coolest man alive…and on Christmas eve he hung out with us! At some point the kids would open up our presents, it had no order, it would appear from an outsider like a pack of ravage wolves attacking a single ham. Paper flew everywhere. We would play with our toys and show them off to one another and then things would wind down…because after all Santa was coming. My mamaw, who was my grandmothers mother, would be hiding in the kitchen stowing away all of the leftovers in her purse, a product of the great depression and we would hug the necks and say our thank yous.
When we made it home mom would set out the cookies and the milk, and put my younger sister to bed. My brother and I sat out in the breezeway of our apartment building finishing off the evening. As we drifted off to sleep, though I knew there was no Santa Claus…I would force myself to pretend…holding onto wonder. I awoke and my brother and I would dart to the living room and grab our stocking (it was the only thing we were allowed to open without our parents). It was filled with little chocolates, mints, nuts and inexplicably an orange. However, there was often little toys or trinkets to play with…to tide us over till the folks got up.
As I look back it is amazing what my mom was able to pull off for Christmas considering how poor we were. I didn’t know back then but looking back we were quite poor. My mom was a diner waitress and I guess with the Christmas season tips were more generous and she was able to pull off miracles. It was never elaborate…but me and my brother were always happy after the presents were opened. We both got a record player and an ET cabbage patch type doll (creepy). We both got records, I got Survivors “Eye of the Tiger” and The Fox and the Hound book on record, whenever I watch that movie I can still tell you where the beeps are for you to turn the page.
As a pastor I know the theological reasons for the season. I know that Christmas is over commercialized. I know that we can get too busy. But I can tell you that for a child, even a poor child. Christmas memories can last a lifetime. I encourage you to find ways to make memories. Begin a family tradition. My childhood wasn’t great…actually it was a trainwreck…however, this Christmas memory all these years later stays with me and when I think of Christmas, I think of that crowded little apartment in Columbus Ga.
Merry Christmas.
Sean Rheaume 