The Holly and the Crown

One might think that a favorite holiday memory would be something from childhood, some perfect gift. A dog, a bicycle, catching Santa at his work. Oddly the two I am about to share are neither.

My mom was not a cuddle-you-kinda mom. I'm sure she did cuddle us, because none of us turned out a deranged killer. But yunno how some kids are just fiends for crawling into your lap and nesting there? I was one of those kids. My mom not so much. Our family always attended midnight Mass. There is a magic in staying up late when you are little. Magic made all the brighter for snow, clear dark skies, new red velvet dresses and the ethereal voices of the choir in the darkened church. There were five of us and growing up the little ones jockeyed for positions near our Mom, the older ones jockeying the away ones. My happiest Christmas memory is not a gift at all. It is the nights I landed that coveted position next to my mom in her mink coat. (Back before PETA people). I was not allowed her lap, that would wrinkle both her dress and mine. But I was for that night only allowed to nestle beneath her arm in her mink coat. A place that felt safe and warm and silky smooth against my skin.  A place of sleepy Christmas dreams of such innocence.  A place where memories are made. 

I am against the wearing of fur and have been since I saw a video of how the skins were harvested. I understand that for my mom and women of her generation that fur symbolizes a whole other set of things than it does me. I would never wear it, but I will sheepishly admit that I have been known to close my eyes and rub the sleeve of a fur coat against my cheek just to bring back that sense of clear skied awe and snuggled wintry safety.

***************************************************************************

Five of my family members have the deep misfortune of having birthdays Christmas week. Wah wah wah. If you don't like it, well then be smart next time and be born in the summer like folks should. For me the only misfortune is the financial hit of double dip presents and the endless caking that threatens to burst the seams of my jeans. Made one cake worse by my mother's insistence that we celebrate Christmas as Baby Jesus' Birthday. No lie. There was birthday cake and singing which should have been enough to have an omnipotent being take us all out. Proof that Baby Jesus is either benevolent or tone deaf.

I have four brothers all towering over 6 feet. Most carrying a little extra in the midsection like my family is wont to do. My brother Tom has 4 kids - girl, boy, boy girl - two of whom have the dreaded Christmas week birthday. Jackie, the youngest one is the soul of sweetness like youngest children mostly are. She was also the girliest girl - princess, twirly skirts, sparkles, the who shebang. The year she turned four there was a party with relatives from both sides.

At one point in the evening, I wondered where she had gotten off to? I walked down the hall toward her cupboard of a room where the door was ajar. I heard voices from inside. When I peaked my head around the corner I saw a knot of people laying on their stomachs around what looked to be a gameboard. Jackie, aka the birthday girl, had roped her dad and her Uncles Phil and Jeff into a game of Pretty Pretty Princess where you compete for the rhinestone crown.  Jackie's tiny body nearly lost in that sea of dude in her tiny bedroom.  My brother Tom was wearing little plastic clip on earrings (Some things never change brutha), Jackie's Uncle Jeff was wearing a big plastic 'diamond' ring, and my brother Phil was wearing a sparkly bracelet of some kind.

I stuffed my fist in my mouth until I got to the living room where I collapsed in wheezing gales of laughter. When I finally manage to stop, I waved my sister-in-law Cindy and a few others women with me. We crept quietly down the hall and each poked our head around the doorway one above the other like some cheesy 70's sitcom intro. Pretty sure Cindy got off a picture before she fell over on the floor in laughter. At that point none of us could contain the giggles at the sight of all those dudes in their little plastic jewelry.

It is the part that comes next that makes this my favorite memory of the holidays. The guys might have gotten up embarrassed, pulled off the plastic gems and harrumphed their way down the hall, pounding their chests back to whatever sporting event was on the tube. Instead these big dudes lying on the floor turned and gave us dimply princess smiles and little princess waves and went back to the game.

I know my family is fucked up some times. Maybe more than most. Maybe not. I could focus on that fucked upness like I did yesterday. Or I could see those hulking dudes in that cramped room busted by sisters and wives calmly go back to their game with a wave because it is what made one little four year old girl ecstatically happy.  

Just in case your wondering about the title, it has nothing whatsoever to do with the post.  But it is another of my favorite holiday things.  I love Christmas tunage (in moderation and of my own choosing - NO MUSAK!) which is proof that the deity has a sense of humor since I can't sing for shit