First Draft

When I was seven years old, my parents got a divorce. Sadness. Confusion. Split Christmases. Blah, blah, blah. A classic, modern story shared by far too many. My mother liked to make something special for my sister and I. She’d host Christmas Eve on December 23rd, and then we’d wake up, open presents, and go off to our dad’s. Some years. Other years., my mother would host us on the 24th and 25th. But for some reason, I always remember those Christmases when she hosted us on the 23rd. It was unique. A treat, just for my sister and me. 

My sister, mom, and I liked to make Christmas cookies and sing Mariah Carey. Everyone has a Christmas tradition, don’t they? What’s yours? Perhaps traditions seemed more relevant as a child. Not every tradition transcends into adulthood. 

This year, the only tradition that lives on is the Christmas Eve viewing of It’s a Wonderful Life, which is a tradition from my dad. He loves George Bailey. Throughout the divorce years, he’d always wish to have a Mary of his own, since my mother was not his Mary anymore. One year, we all watched the movie at my Nanny & Papa’s, in their spare TV room where I typically slept while visiting them in Florida. One year, my Nanny fell asleep in the rocking chair, and when Geogre Bailey, towards the end of the movie, grabs the angel, Clarence, and shouts at him to tell him “Where’s Mary?!” Clarence admits, “she’s just about to close up the library!” and my Nanny awakens from a deep sleep and screams! Now, it is a tradition on my dad’s side of the family to scream like Nanny during this scene.

I will be alone this Christmas. No family, no significant other. So I suppose I’ll be screaming, party of one, to the infamous It’s a Wonderful Life scene. Maybe I’ll buy some eggnog and bourbon, a tradition of my father’s that wouldn’t be complete without a healthy sprinkle of nutmeg. Or maybe I’ll make some Christmas cookies like my mom and sister and I used to do. Unlikely. 

It is an odd feeling, having a quiet Christmas by my lonesome. I am used to juggling 4 or 5 Christmases: mom’s, dad’s, stepfather’s, stepmother’s, and then that of a significant other when applicable (though most of the time, it is not applicable – Oh! Woe is me!). My Christmas Eves for years have been spent inside a car, hopping from place to place for merely an hour or two before having to jump back into the car and head to the next place. My mom started a tradition to make the shuffle more enjoyable when my sister and I got older. She would mix us Vodka Cranberries in a coffee tumbler, and we’d sip them, joking that we “need more coffee!” 

Maybe I’ll have Vodka Cranberries and Bourbon Eggnogs all evening, pretending I’ll make as good of a wife as George Bailey’s Mary. I’ll reflect, I’ll pray, and I’ll wish those loved ones far away a very Merry Christmas. I will attend Mass, at 4pm at my parish, as well as at Midnight for the special Latin Mass at St. Patrick’s. I’ll wear festive red, and curl my hair, always looking my best for Jesus – looking my best for his big bash of a birthday. I’ll remember the real meaning of this holiday – that we have been blessed with a savior. 

I won’t really be alone. And none of the traditions matter, anyway. They’re warm memories I’d be happy to repeat. But they’re not the meat and potatoes of Christmas. I won’t be alone, I’ll be in the company of the guest of honor, the birthday boy, the savior of mankind. And that’s enough for me on this day, as well as any other ordinary day. 

When I was 7 or 8, I was chosen to sing the special chorus solo at the Christmas concert. The song was “Happy Birthday Jesus.” I was beyond nervous, but felt honored to be chosen to sing this special treat. That song, along with so many other classic tunes, will be playing on repeat all night long before and after George Bailey graces my screen. I’ll play the fireplace app like my dad always used to do, and I’ll sing along to Sinatra or Andy Williams, and maybe even shed a tear. But there’s nothing to fear.

The future Christmases are unpredictable. The past is heartwarming, sometimes, but also sad and full of fights and tug-o-wars between sides of the family. Holidays aren’t always joyous. They can be stressful and chaotic and bring out the worst in people, unfortunately, at times. People lose meaning. There are an immeasurable amount of Hallmark movies sharing the plot of losing the Christmas cheer, the Christmas spirit. 

I’m here to remind everyone why Christmas is the most joyous time of year. A child is born, a child who will grow to be the King of Kings, and save all us sinners. What can bring more cheer than that? It’s not about Santa and presents, or eggnog or family traditions. Though those things have a place within Christmas, they are not the focal point. No, no. 

Happy Birthday Jesus. 

Merry Christmas to all. And have a Happy New Year. Whether you’re alone, surrounded by loved ones, hopping from place to place, or planted, I sincerely hope everyone appreciates the meaning of this holiday, shows one another the love God shows us, and that we enter 2025 with open hearts, ready to be better than our past selves. 

This is the season of hope. 

I hope you all feel loved.