A Christmas Eve Story

Two facts lead me to the years 1991 or 1992: First, I had well outgrown Santa Claus, having had the big reveal from my mother while in the sixth grade. (Does any kid suspend disbelief till age twelve anymore? To my credit, I had been suspicious for some time.) Second, my dad was not around. In the first years of their separation, there had been a pretense of family togetherness as he commuted down the hallway of our apartment building from his apartment at 10D to ours at 10B several times a day. But in 1991 or 1992, Christmas with my dad had disintegrated into buying him the requisite large, hardcover history book and calling it a day. I believe there were a few Christmases when he went on a cruise.

I would have been fourteen or fifteen, that transition point between Christmas meaning Santa Claus and then meaning something much less tangible, much less inclined to produce flurries of anticipation and then satiation on "the big day". Less like flame licks of happiness and more like a consistent simmer on a warm burner of faith. My testimony of the Savior was, at that point, real and stable, but I had yet to understand the power of the Gospel message or Jesus' efficacy in my life.

My mother and I decided to have a Christmas Eve party. For both of us, it was probably an effort to replace the vacuum left by two men -- Santa Claus and my dad -- with the reality of a third -- the Savior -- although that was never acknowledged at the time. I made the invitations, drawing by hand a line of "Silent Night" and then underneath writing "Come Join Ariel and Neylan for an Unsilent Night of Words and Song". I took the invitation to Mike's Copy Shop on 59th Street (it's now the Starbuck's across from the Time Warner Center) and had it copied on card stock with red ink.

We counted almost 80 people in our two bedroom apartment that Christmas Eve. In the abundantly and deliciously producing factory that was our tiny kitchen, my mom prepared beef bourgiugnon over rice and stacked piles of cookies on our round glass dining table. The Christmas tree -- our "best ever", as we declared every year -- provided the majority of the light in our lovely living room. Beloved members of our New York ward family made up the bulk of the guests, but even Dinah, our next door neighbor of fifteen years, entered our apartment for the first time. Mom had purchased British Christmas crackers for everyone and pretty soon the crowd appeared to be debauched revelers donning paper crowns and toasting with paper cups, filled only with Martinelli's. 

But the music... In my mom's fashion, she had planned out a program making proper use of the extraordinary talent we had among our friends in those days. D. Fletcher made his home for the evening at our Steinway, providing prelude and postlude to the official program with always a few quality voices joining him in the piano's crook. I remember "Weepin' Mary" having one of its first performances that night. It was the first night I accompanied my mom on John Jacob Niles' carol "What Songs Were Sung", which we have reprised a few times this season. My friend Eliza and I sang Niles' "Carol of the Birds" as a duet. We turned the stage over for much of the night: original poems, ensemble singing, short stories.

I'm sure "Santa Baby" was sung at some point, but as I remember the night now, the night belonged to the Savior. And it was that night when my childhood understanding of Christmas outgrew the visceral hunger for presents under the tree and instead embraced a more clear perception of the Christmas peace. Music, for me an always potent spiritual tool, provided the bridge between the Christmases of my childhood and all of those that have followed since that very special night. 

We do not know, we cannot tell

What songs were sung, what starlight fell,

When Mary birthed her own sweet Son

And peace and love became as one.

John Jacob Niles

Comments

[Leisl Simmons]

I wish your blog had a "Like" button so I wouldn't have to bother you with my feeble attempt of letting you know how much I enjoy reading your posts. That is a wonderful Christmas memory, and coming of age story. I am watching carefully what my children make of Christmas as they enter the "knowing" stage. Our living room held all levels of belief this morning as we were opening the presents, and it was interesting to observe.

[Jamie Baer Peterson]

I remember that night, because I could not be there the whole time---I had to sing Christmas Eve at the Greek Orthodox Church on the East Side. But, I do remember it being a HUGE fabulous party! Wonderful writing Neylen.