There’s something about coming home. Whether you’ve been out for the day, or gone for months, there’s something ultimately fantastic about coming home. Your family is there to greet you. Your dog runs into the room, barely able to control his/her excitement at your long-awaited arrival.
I love coming home. Especially after a long semester at school, when I haven’t been home in weeks. I immediately want to eat some home-cooked food, catch up with my family, and enjoy the atmosphere I have grown up in.
7.05.2009
Coming Home
3.24.2009
"It would be an awfully big adventure"
January 14
9A.M. – I still have time to back out.
I start my day calculating the hours until I have to leave: 6 hours. Ignoring all clocks I try to make the most of my final hours. Despite the cold weather, I take Zoe for a walk. Quality time with the Chubster as well as my last glimpse of Northeast Philly [not that it’s any great shakes – but it’s still home].
12P.M. – I still have time to back out.
Lunch with my Mom in the dining room feels tense. Simple PB&J sandwiches have turned depressing – it is my last meal at home. Mom tries to keep us busy, going over what else needs to be done: finish packing, weigh the luggage, make sure I have packed everything I want & need. Unfortunately, I think to myself, I can’t pack my parents, big brother and dog into those suitcases. I go to my room and cry. I cry because I don’t want to leave. The tears, however, are quickly wiped away. Mom is coming up the stairs to help me.
3P.M. – I still have time to back out.
Michael is home. I’m on the living room floor saying “goodbye” to Zoe. I’m trying so hard not to cry. I can’t cry – not yet. Michael & Dad have taken my stuff out to the car & Mom is telling me “it’s time to go.” Already? How can that be? Not too long ago I was packing up for the start of Fall Semester in my Junior year. Now here I am, starting Spring Semester of Junior year. I want to cry. I want to beg my Mom: “Don’t make me go! I changed my mind! Let me stay! Please?!” But I stand up, pat the dog one last time and say “goodbye” to my house. I climb into the back seat of the car & stare out the window. It feels like Dad is driving slower than usual and I am not sure if I am thankful or ungrateful. Am I thankful for a few extra minutes in the car with my family? Or am I ungrateful that Dad is prolonging my inevitable departure?
3:30P.M. – I still have time to back out.
The black Le Sabre pulls into Departures in A Terminal of Philadelphia International Airport. Lanette is already inside waiting with her Mom. Tammy calls me to tell me she is almost there. Michael takes my bags inside, Dad leaves to park the car, Mom & I hold hands as we walk behind Michael. Standing in line I keep my eyes on Mon & Michael – memorizing their faces. Dad comes in a few minutes later & I watch him walk toward us. There’s plenty of time to watch my family since the British Airways counter seems to be lacking representatives today. I am doing everything I can to cherish my last few moments with my family.
4P.M. – I still have time to back out.
A British Airways rep has finally come to the counter. I wait in line with my family. Soon – too soon – it is my turn to check-in. The woman looks at my passport, hands it back to me with my boarding pass. Michael places my luggage on the scale. We had all been worried it was over the maximum weight limit. Luckily each suitcase was a few pounds under the limit. We stand there, watching, until my bags are placed on the conveyor belt taking them to unseen parts of the airport where they will hopefully be put on the right plane. We leave the line, waiting for Tammy to check-in and the tears have started. Pictures are taken of three red-eyed girls embarking on their semester-long adventure. Presents are opened: seven guide books and scarves: necessities in the big, cold city. I cannot stop the rush of tears. I cling to Mom. I literally cannot let go of her – my body refuses. She tells me she loves me, that she is so proud of me and that she will see me very soon. I know that as soon as I land I will start counting down the days to February 21st, the day that Mom will land in London to visit me. I turn around to hug my big brother and I see that he is wiping away tears – he’s even busted out the tissues for everyone. He says “come on, stop crying, you’re gonna have so much fun.” I tell him “I know, but I wanna have fun with my big brother.” “You will soon enough.” Again, I know that when I land I will count down the days till March 5th, the day Michael will arrive in London. I give him the biggest hug I can manage through my tears & tell him I love him, that I am going to miss him. Then I see Dad. Dad’s a little teary-eyed, too. Once again, I will be counting down the days till March 26th, when it will be Dad’s turn to see London.
4:45 P.M. – I still have time to back out.
I give everyone one more big hug and throw out as many “I love you’s” as I can. It’s time to go. It’s time to say goodbye. But maybe not. What if I stayed? What if I went back to CHC like I should be? What if I didn’t go to London? Would I disappoint my family and friends? Would I disappoint myself? Probably. I know this is my adventure. “It would be an awfully big adventure.” But I just want to stay home where it’s safe – where I know everyone and everything. I’m not ready for the unknown. The three of us grab our bags, give some more hugs and kisses and make our way to the gate. Going up the escalator I throw out a big wave to my family, holding back the tears that are fighting to get out. We get through airport security, find our gate, and sit. No one says anything. I pull out my phone and start texting. I’m not going to be able to text anyone from home for 3 ½ months, might as well do it now. I text Michael: “we’re at the gate…got through security fine…love you all! miss you already!!” I text Mom: “i love you! i miss you!” I text friends: “miss you guys already! can’t wait to see you!!!”
6P.M. – I still have time to back out.
It’s now time to board the plane. We get in line, show our boarding passes and passports, find our seats. It feels routine for me. I’ve flown so many times in my life – I know the drill. But I keep my eye out for Tammy who is walking on a plane for the first time in her life. I hope and pray she doesn’t lose it. She’s my best friend, but I don’t know if I can help her get through this right now – I’m too weepy. I’m also still texting my brother and my Mom. I settle into my seat and stare at the door: I still have time. I can grab my stuff, get off the plane, call Michael and tell them to turn around. I can still go home! There’s still time to fix this stupid mistake I have made!
6:30P.M. – It’s too late. I’m stuck.
The flight attendant closes the door. Shit. The time for bailing has passed. There is no longer a way out. I am officially, 100% stuck and headed to London with only the thought of flying home again. Deep breath. I only get one shot at this. I have to make it count.
2.10.2009
The Only Thing...
The only sounds I wish to hear in my dreams are the sound of the rain strumming against the window, the sound of your breathing, the sound of your heart fluttering in your chest.
The only feelings I wish to feel while I dream are your arms wrapped around me, the sensation of our lips meeting in the dark, the warmth of your breath on my skin, the rhythm of our hearts beating together.
The only sight I wish to see in my dreams is your eyes.
The only wish I will make in my dreams is to wake up lying next to you.
The only feelings I wish to feel while I dream are your arms wrapped around me, the sensation of our lips meeting in the dark, the warmth of your breath on my skin, the rhythm of our hearts beating together.
The only sight I wish to see in my dreams is your eyes.
The only wish I will make in my dreams is to wake up lying next to you.
2.09.2009
clinging to the tick-tock, tick-tock of life
time
getting carried away
no control
getting faster
further out of control with every second
is it running out?
will i get anywhere any faster?
despite the speed will i be stuck?
stuck in a world in which i am fighting to find my place
getting carried away
no control
getting faster
further out of control with every second
is it running out?
will i get anywhere any faster?
despite the speed will i be stuck?
stuck in a world in which i am fighting to find my place
2.04.2009
Something Old. Something New. Something Borrowed. Something Blue. Something Stolen...
I was robbed at ages 1 1/2, 19, & 20. I was even robbed before I was born.
My paternal grandfather died when my father was about 18 years old. Before my father even met my mother.
My maternal grandfather died when I was just a baby. The only memories I have of him are pictures & stories from my mother.
My paternal grandmother died when I was 19 years old. Her death, I suppose you could say, was harder to handle - but also easier. I was at school when I found out - my sophomore year of college. But I quickly went home to be with my family.
My maternal grandmother died when I was 20 years old [about 7 months after Nan]. Her death was even more difficult to handle because she had lived with us for 5 months before she died. I like to think we had a wonderful summer with Grandmom. She was happy before she died. But what made her last months with us & her death more difficult, in my opinion, was Beth's abandoning her. I understand she felt overwhelmed - believe me, I understand feeling overwhelmed - but I would never attempt suicide while my elderly mother was in the next room, helpless. [I wouldn't attempt suicide at all - no matter how bad life seemed to be].
I also understand that Beth doesn't see that she did anything wrong. In fact, she was right to bring Grandmom to us - she should never have brought her to live in Baltimore to begin with!
The day Beth brought Grandmom to us [without even saying goodbye to her own mother] was the day she died in my heart. She is no longer my aunt. My ties with her died with Grandmom.
Like I said, I have been robbed in my life. I was fortunate enough to have known 2 of the greatest grandmothers in the world; lucky enough to call them my grandmothers.
I do wish I had gotten the chance to meet & know my grandfathers. They were 2 such extraordinary men & I know some of their stories. But I long for the memories of sitting on my grandfathers' laps & hearing their stories firsthand.
Pop [Mom's Dad] ran away & joined the Navy at age 16. He lied about his age & was found out after about 3 months. He was sent home to his mother [his father had been killed in WWII] & waited till he could legally join up. I've heard the story from my great-grandmother, my grandmother, & my mother. But I would love to hear Pop's version of the story - to know what he was thinking about when he suddenly ran away from home.
Pop [Dad's Dad] was born in Huddersfield, England [not too far from Manchester - 2 hours from London]. His father was Irish, his mother English. My dad has told me that Pop had a wonderful singing voice - he had been trained as a young man. My dad has also shared a childhood memory of his own: he didn't realize his father had an accent till he was about 10 years old.
Pop worked on & drove the trolleys in Lawncrest [Philadelphia]. It was because of one of these trolleys that Pop lost his legs [a horrible accident that happened years before my father was born].
I wish I knew the sounds of my grandfathers' voices. I envy my older brother for his fishing trips with Pop [Mom's Dad]. I envy some of my older cousins, who were lucky enough to meet Pop [Dad's Dad]. They were lucky enough to know my grandfathers. For that, I am eternally jealous.
My paternal grandfather died when my father was about 18 years old. Before my father even met my mother.
My maternal grandfather died when I was just a baby. The only memories I have of him are pictures & stories from my mother.
My paternal grandmother died when I was 19 years old. Her death, I suppose you could say, was harder to handle - but also easier. I was at school when I found out - my sophomore year of college. But I quickly went home to be with my family.
My maternal grandmother died when I was 20 years old [about 7 months after Nan]. Her death was even more difficult to handle because she had lived with us for 5 months before she died. I like to think we had a wonderful summer with Grandmom. She was happy before she died. But what made her last months with us & her death more difficult, in my opinion, was Beth's abandoning her. I understand she felt overwhelmed - believe me, I understand feeling overwhelmed - but I would never attempt suicide while my elderly mother was in the next room, helpless. [I wouldn't attempt suicide at all - no matter how bad life seemed to be].
I also understand that Beth doesn't see that she did anything wrong. In fact, she was right to bring Grandmom to us - she should never have brought her to live in Baltimore to begin with!
The day Beth brought Grandmom to us [without even saying goodbye to her own mother] was the day she died in my heart. She is no longer my aunt. My ties with her died with Grandmom.
Like I said, I have been robbed in my life. I was fortunate enough to have known 2 of the greatest grandmothers in the world; lucky enough to call them my grandmothers.
I do wish I had gotten the chance to meet & know my grandfathers. They were 2 such extraordinary men & I know some of their stories. But I long for the memories of sitting on my grandfathers' laps & hearing their stories firsthand.
Pop [Mom's Dad] ran away & joined the Navy at age 16. He lied about his age & was found out after about 3 months. He was sent home to his mother [his father had been killed in WWII] & waited till he could legally join up. I've heard the story from my great-grandmother, my grandmother, & my mother. But I would love to hear Pop's version of the story - to know what he was thinking about when he suddenly ran away from home.
Pop [Dad's Dad] was born in Huddersfield, England [not too far from Manchester - 2 hours from London]. His father was Irish, his mother English. My dad has told me that Pop had a wonderful singing voice - he had been trained as a young man. My dad has also shared a childhood memory of his own: he didn't realize his father had an accent till he was about 10 years old.
Pop worked on & drove the trolleys in Lawncrest [Philadelphia]. It was because of one of these trolleys that Pop lost his legs [a horrible accident that happened years before my father was born].
I wish I knew the sounds of my grandfathers' voices. I envy my older brother for his fishing trips with Pop [Mom's Dad]. I envy some of my older cousins, who were lucky enough to meet Pop [Dad's Dad]. They were lucky enough to know my grandfathers. For that, I am eternally jealous.
1.05.2009
One of the STRANGEST dreams I've had in a long time...
DISCLAIMER: I wrote this around 12:30 this morning. It started as a dream, then I woke up, realized how bizarre it was, & decided I needed to write it down. So, I spent an hour in the middle of the night writing this odd story. *It's also not finished*
Someone is in the house. Someone who doesn't live here. I'm in bed. I was asleep. My parents are asleep - my brother, too. Who's here? They need to leave. They don't belong here!
They're on the stairs. I can hear them ascending. Shit. What do I do? Do I stay in bed? Do I rush to my parents? What if they get to my parents first? What if they've already gotten to my brother? Oh God! What do I do?!
They're coming toward my door. They're whispering...counting...I hear a creak...
I'm awake again. How did I fall asleep?! There were intruders in our house! I heard them! How did I fall asleep knowing there was someone in the house?!
I open my eyes. Oh my God!! This can't be real. I must be dreaming.
No way! Impossible!
There's a lion on my bed! How did I fall asleep with a lion on my bed?! How can I still be alive? Unharmed? Unscathed?
He senses me - my anxiety. He looks at me. I'm frightened. Terrified. He's staring at me. What is he thinking? Am I breakfast? Should I try to run? Scream?
No. Stay calm. Breathe. He'll feed on my fear. Be calm & he won't hurt me.
[Easier said than done, of course.]
My heart is racing. Sweat breaks over my brow. What do I do?
Oh no. He's moving. He's standing up on my bed! Oh God! He's towering over me. So tall, so strong.
He sits. Still staring at me. Finally...he yawns & goes to sleep. There's a lion asleep in my bed.
I slowly - painstakingly slow, so as not to wake the lion - creep out of my bed. I crawl toward the door. Tiptoe down the hall to my parents' bedroom. Sound asleep. Do they even know someone broke in last night? I go to Mom's side of the bed. I quietly try to wake her. She starts - immediately wondering what's wrong - why I am waking her.
I say nothing, but motion for her to follow me. We tiptoe back down the hall toward my door. I signal for her to remain quiet. Slowly, I push open the door. There lies the lion - asleep in my bed. Mom gasps & instantly my hands are on her to keep her quiet - not knowing what the lion will do when he wakes.
Mom & I are downstairs in the kitchen. We're looking to see what food we have to offer the lion. There's some raw chicken in the fridge - but not enough to satisfy a hungry lion. Our only other option is dog food. We quickly decide to get more food for the lion & to re-stock our dog food supply. Then comes the realization that the dog is still in the house. When she wakes up, she'll bark in an effort to make sure everyone else is up. That will surely wake up the lion, whom Mom & I have dubbed "Mufasa" & "Aslan."
We climb the stairs. Mom will wake Dad to explain our new resident & to send him out for food. My job is to check on "Aslan" momentarily & then get the dog outside before all hell breaks loose. Today is not the day for a battle between cats & dogs.
On my way outside with our dog, Zoe, I stop to wake up my brother, Michael. I quickly tell him about "Mufasa" & he laughs in disbelief. I let the dog out & take Michael to my room.
One look at the sleeping beast & Michael is hooked! He wants to touch him, see him up close. Of course, I usher him downstairs & outside with the dog in order to get some quiet in the house. Mom & I need to brainstorm.
Do we call the police? The zoo? Animal control?
Is there even a protocol for something like this? I can see the headlines now: "Lion Found in Girl's Bed," "Small Dog Lives in Peace with Lion King," "Family Adopts Lion."
Before a decision can be made, I hear a thump & a soft, low growl from my room. He's awake. Mom rushes to get the raw chicken & dog food in a bowl before he comes downstairs. Then she pauses to debate whether the food should go in a bowl, on a plate, or just on the floor. I panic, "Just put it on the floor!"
He's on the stairs! I try not to react; try to stay as calm as possible.
I see him - in the living room. He turns, catches my eye. What is he thinking?! Is he going to eat us? Eat all of our food? Leave?
He approaches me. Sits down at my feet. He's nearly eye-level with me. He yawns again, looks at me - "Hello," he says. The lion said "hello" to me! He spoke!
He walks into the kitchen, greets my mother [who is beside herself with shock] & consumes the meal she has prepared for him. Moments later, he thanks my mother for his breakfast, looks out the door & tells me to bring in Michael & Zoe. ["Tell Michael to come inside, & to bring Zoe with him."] He knows their names! How?!
I obey the lion, wondering at the same time how odd it is to be taking orders from a lion!
Meanwhile, Dad has just come home with an assortment of food for the lion. Naturally, he doesn't believe us when we tell him the lion spoke to us.
The lion summons us into the living room, where he has taken over the couch. We sit on the floor in front of him, curious if he'll pounce on us.
Silence.
The lion takes a few moments to look at each of us, but doesn't speak. I break the silence, "What were you doing in my bed this morning?" The lion laughs [&shakes the house with his thunderous laugh]. He says, "Bridget, I am here to protect you & your family. Someone came into your home last night. Their intention was to hurt you & I came to chase them away. You were so scared when you heard them, your heart was racing - I could sense it from the hall - you must have fainted before I came in. Even in sleep you were terrified. So I stayed to watch over you. I didn't sleep until you were awake this morning."
Silence.
Someone is in the house. Someone who doesn't live here. I'm in bed. I was asleep. My parents are asleep - my brother, too. Who's here? They need to leave. They don't belong here!
They're on the stairs. I can hear them ascending. Shit. What do I do? Do I stay in bed? Do I rush to my parents? What if they get to my parents first? What if they've already gotten to my brother? Oh God! What do I do?!
They're coming toward my door. They're whispering...counting...I hear a creak...
I'm awake again. How did I fall asleep?! There were intruders in our house! I heard them! How did I fall asleep knowing there was someone in the house?!
I open my eyes. Oh my God!! This can't be real. I must be dreaming.
No way! Impossible!
There's a lion on my bed! How did I fall asleep with a lion on my bed?! How can I still be alive? Unharmed? Unscathed?
He senses me - my anxiety. He looks at me. I'm frightened. Terrified. He's staring at me. What is he thinking? Am I breakfast? Should I try to run? Scream?
No. Stay calm. Breathe. He'll feed on my fear. Be calm & he won't hurt me.
[Easier said than done, of course.]
My heart is racing. Sweat breaks over my brow. What do I do?
Oh no. He's moving. He's standing up on my bed! Oh God! He's towering over me. So tall, so strong.
He sits. Still staring at me. Finally...he yawns & goes to sleep. There's a lion asleep in my bed.
I slowly - painstakingly slow, so as not to wake the lion - creep out of my bed. I crawl toward the door. Tiptoe down the hall to my parents' bedroom. Sound asleep. Do they even know someone broke in last night? I go to Mom's side of the bed. I quietly try to wake her. She starts - immediately wondering what's wrong - why I am waking her.
I say nothing, but motion for her to follow me. We tiptoe back down the hall toward my door. I signal for her to remain quiet. Slowly, I push open the door. There lies the lion - asleep in my bed. Mom gasps & instantly my hands are on her to keep her quiet - not knowing what the lion will do when he wakes.
Mom & I are downstairs in the kitchen. We're looking to see what food we have to offer the lion. There's some raw chicken in the fridge - but not enough to satisfy a hungry lion. Our only other option is dog food. We quickly decide to get more food for the lion & to re-stock our dog food supply. Then comes the realization that the dog is still in the house. When she wakes up, she'll bark in an effort to make sure everyone else is up. That will surely wake up the lion, whom Mom & I have dubbed "Mufasa" & "Aslan."
We climb the stairs. Mom will wake Dad to explain our new resident & to send him out for food. My job is to check on "Aslan" momentarily & then get the dog outside before all hell breaks loose. Today is not the day for a battle between cats & dogs.
On my way outside with our dog, Zoe, I stop to wake up my brother, Michael. I quickly tell him about "Mufasa" & he laughs in disbelief. I let the dog out & take Michael to my room.
One look at the sleeping beast & Michael is hooked! He wants to touch him, see him up close. Of course, I usher him downstairs & outside with the dog in order to get some quiet in the house. Mom & I need to brainstorm.
Do we call the police? The zoo? Animal control?
Is there even a protocol for something like this? I can see the headlines now: "Lion Found in Girl's Bed," "Small Dog Lives in Peace with Lion King," "Family Adopts Lion."
Before a decision can be made, I hear a thump & a soft, low growl from my room. He's awake. Mom rushes to get the raw chicken & dog food in a bowl before he comes downstairs. Then she pauses to debate whether the food should go in a bowl, on a plate, or just on the floor. I panic, "Just put it on the floor!"
He's on the stairs! I try not to react; try to stay as calm as possible.
I see him - in the living room. He turns, catches my eye. What is he thinking?! Is he going to eat us? Eat all of our food? Leave?
He approaches me. Sits down at my feet. He's nearly eye-level with me. He yawns again, looks at me - "Hello," he says. The lion said "hello" to me! He spoke!
He walks into the kitchen, greets my mother [who is beside herself with shock] & consumes the meal she has prepared for him. Moments later, he thanks my mother for his breakfast, looks out the door & tells me to bring in Michael & Zoe. ["Tell Michael to come inside, & to bring Zoe with him."] He knows their names! How?!
I obey the lion, wondering at the same time how odd it is to be taking orders from a lion!
Meanwhile, Dad has just come home with an assortment of food for the lion. Naturally, he doesn't believe us when we tell him the lion spoke to us.
The lion summons us into the living room, where he has taken over the couch. We sit on the floor in front of him, curious if he'll pounce on us.
Silence.
The lion takes a few moments to look at each of us, but doesn't speak. I break the silence, "What were you doing in my bed this morning?" The lion laughs [&shakes the house with his thunderous laugh]. He says, "Bridget, I am here to protect you & your family. Someone came into your home last night. Their intention was to hurt you & I came to chase them away. You were so scared when you heard them, your heart was racing - I could sense it from the hall - you must have fainted before I came in. Even in sleep you were terrified. So I stayed to watch over you. I didn't sleep until you were awake this morning."
Silence.
12.28.2008
Family Essay
For as long as I can remember, my family has celebrated 4 Christmases. Christmas Eve is celebrated with Mom’s side of the family. Christmas Day is just the 4 of us at home. The day after Christmas consists of more of Mom’s side. Finally, New Year’s Day is spent with Dad’s side of the family.
My favorite of all these Christmases is Christmas Eve. Until 1997, December 24th was spent at my house. From 1998 till last year we gathered at my Aunt’s in Lancaster, PA. But during those Christmas Eves at home, I remember that Grandmom would come early in the afternoon to help us clean and set up the presents under the tree. Aunt Maureen and Uncle Phil along with their kids Misha, Micah, Michaela, and J.T. [collectively known as the Grosses] would usually show up late – basically when all the work was done and all that was left to do was eat and open presents.
Now, before I continue, I need to explain to you the philosophy my brother Michael and I share on proper Christmas tree height. It’s pretty intense, but simple. It needs to be taller than Dad – who is 6’3”. But what it really needs to do is scrape the ceiling as we stand it up in our living room. I mean, the tree needed to scrape the ceiling so bad that we would have to repaint the entire living room ceiling after we got rid of the tree. Michael and I have very strict standards that we meet every year despite Mom’s complaints of “Just once can we not get such a tall tree?” But each year we don’t listen and get the tallest one we can find. Like I said, we have our standards.
Now back to the inner-workings of Christmas Eve on Friendship Street. Mom is seen in the kitchen, putting the last touches on our Christmas #1 feast. She’s also giving out orders – mostly to me, since I’m the only one around to help. I’m told to make sure Christmas music is playing, that all presents are neatly arranged under the tree, and that I do not peak at any presents whatsoever! I salute her and go about my duties. As I do so, the rest of the family [the Grosses] come charging through the door, right on time – dinner’s almost ready.
Everyone gets settled in and Christmas Eve officially begins. Dinner is served. The table is decorated with candles and mini-wreaths and the best food: “pigs in a blanket,” roast beef sandwiches, wings, and other munchies. My mouth is watering just telling you about it.
So, we eat, everyone catches up, and then someone [usually Aunt Maureen] starts singing. My family has been graced with a few gifted singers, but not all of us. Anyway, we all sing Christmas carols, taking turns to pick out the next favorite to sing. “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing,” “Rudolph,” “Joy to the World”and“O Come All Ye Faithful” are just a few of the many favorites we share as a family. This is absolutely my favorite part of Christmas Eve, other than opening presents. Everyone is so happy and together and so joyful. I can’t help but fall in love with my family.
After the singing comes what most little kids dread and mostly just don’t understand – but it’s essential to a Christmas in a Christian family: reading the Bible story of Jesus’ birth. The Gospel according to Luke, Chapter 2, Verses 1-21: “The angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people” [Verse 10].
When the story is over, the highly-anticipated opening of the presents is up next. Every year we decide in what order we will open presents. For example, we may open from oldest to youngest, which would start with Grandmom and filter down to J.T., or in the opposite direction. Usually, if the kids had to go last, there is a lot of bickering, complaining, and whining. But the whining is quickly silenced with a firm “It’s Christmas! Be thankful! Be joyful! Find joy in your heart! Smile!” In my case, should I be found pouting on Christmas, I hear these words from Mom. She’s pretty good with deciding what mood I need to be in.
The mountain of presents that were neatly arranged by yours truly is quickly demolished and all that remains is a pile of wrapping paper, tissue paper, and some ribbon. But smiling faces deck the room, perhaps some more songs are sung, and pictures are taken of everyone showing off their fabulous presents. It takes an outside look of my family and me to realize how lucky I am to have a family that loves me – a family that fills my heart with the spirit of the season [but lasts all year round].
And now, this holiday season, we will once again celebrate Christmas Eve at my house. But my family will be missing my Grandmother. Grandmom died this October. Our first Christmas this year will be celebrated in remembrance of Grandmom – of Nena. I hope that my family and I will look back on Christmases past and remember the love and laughter Grandmom brought to us all.
My favorite of all these Christmases is Christmas Eve. Until 1997, December 24th was spent at my house. From 1998 till last year we gathered at my Aunt’s in Lancaster, PA. But during those Christmas Eves at home, I remember that Grandmom would come early in the afternoon to help us clean and set up the presents under the tree. Aunt Maureen and Uncle Phil along with their kids Misha, Micah, Michaela, and J.T. [collectively known as the Grosses] would usually show up late – basically when all the work was done and all that was left to do was eat and open presents.
Now, before I continue, I need to explain to you the philosophy my brother Michael and I share on proper Christmas tree height. It’s pretty intense, but simple. It needs to be taller than Dad – who is 6’3”. But what it really needs to do is scrape the ceiling as we stand it up in our living room. I mean, the tree needed to scrape the ceiling so bad that we would have to repaint the entire living room ceiling after we got rid of the tree. Michael and I have very strict standards that we meet every year despite Mom’s complaints of “Just once can we not get such a tall tree?” But each year we don’t listen and get the tallest one we can find. Like I said, we have our standards.
Now back to the inner-workings of Christmas Eve on Friendship Street. Mom is seen in the kitchen, putting the last touches on our Christmas #1 feast. She’s also giving out orders – mostly to me, since I’m the only one around to help. I’m told to make sure Christmas music is playing, that all presents are neatly arranged under the tree, and that I do not peak at any presents whatsoever! I salute her and go about my duties. As I do so, the rest of the family [the Grosses] come charging through the door, right on time – dinner’s almost ready.
Everyone gets settled in and Christmas Eve officially begins. Dinner is served. The table is decorated with candles and mini-wreaths and the best food: “pigs in a blanket,” roast beef sandwiches, wings, and other munchies. My mouth is watering just telling you about it.
So, we eat, everyone catches up, and then someone [usually Aunt Maureen] starts singing. My family has been graced with a few gifted singers, but not all of us. Anyway, we all sing Christmas carols, taking turns to pick out the next favorite to sing. “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing,” “Rudolph,” “Joy to the World”and“O Come All Ye Faithful” are just a few of the many favorites we share as a family. This is absolutely my favorite part of Christmas Eve, other than opening presents. Everyone is so happy and together and so joyful. I can’t help but fall in love with my family.
After the singing comes what most little kids dread and mostly just don’t understand – but it’s essential to a Christmas in a Christian family: reading the Bible story of Jesus’ birth. The Gospel according to Luke, Chapter 2, Verses 1-21: “The angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people” [Verse 10].
When the story is over, the highly-anticipated opening of the presents is up next. Every year we decide in what order we will open presents. For example, we may open from oldest to youngest, which would start with Grandmom and filter down to J.T., or in the opposite direction. Usually, if the kids had to go last, there is a lot of bickering, complaining, and whining. But the whining is quickly silenced with a firm “It’s Christmas! Be thankful! Be joyful! Find joy in your heart! Smile!” In my case, should I be found pouting on Christmas, I hear these words from Mom. She’s pretty good with deciding what mood I need to be in.
The mountain of presents that were neatly arranged by yours truly is quickly demolished and all that remains is a pile of wrapping paper, tissue paper, and some ribbon. But smiling faces deck the room, perhaps some more songs are sung, and pictures are taken of everyone showing off their fabulous presents. It takes an outside look of my family and me to realize how lucky I am to have a family that loves me – a family that fills my heart with the spirit of the season [but lasts all year round].
And now, this holiday season, we will once again celebrate Christmas Eve at my house. But my family will be missing my Grandmother. Grandmom died this October. Our first Christmas this year will be celebrated in remembrance of Grandmom – of Nena. I hope that my family and I will look back on Christmases past and remember the love and laughter Grandmom brought to us all.
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