Celebrating Christmas in Times of Struggle

Reflections on days gone by and how we found togetherness in uncertain times

My wife works in the local school district, and every holiday season she finds a way to help out a few of her kids. I review products as one of my side hustles. Even if I’m not able to get them exactly what they want, I can usually get close.

I can get something.

Most of the time we help out with things like winter jackets and boots, but play is also important for the soul. Play allows kids to dream. Perhaps in dreaming they’ll find the pathway to personal prosperity. I hope so.

Our family has been fortunate, and we’ve never endured the extreme levels of poverty that exists within our community. Children and parents both try to hide their struggles behind a smile and a cavalier attitude. But every now and then the mask slips.

Personally, I think it should slip a little more. I think we’d all be better off if we had a greater awareness of what everyone else is going through. But it’s more than pride that keeps us in hiding. Life teaches that there are just as many out there who see bad fortune as an opportunity for exploitation.

I like to think that the numbers are greater among those committed to doing good, but my faith in that assumption has been challenged more than once.

Today, I found myself thinking back to Christmases past when my girls were waist high and the magic of the holiday season hung thick in the air. There was one year when I got a tree from a neighbor up the road. He had a bunch of them propped up in his yard, and the price didn’t sting too bad.

It turned out not to be all that good of a tree. It was dry, and many of the needles were knocked loose from the branches as I struggled to drag it into our upstairs apartment.

But to the kids, it was a delight. That was back in the days when I could entertain them by sitting them in a box and pulling them around the room.

“Vroom!”

They giggled and watched the world fly by as they were tossed this way and that. They passed the tree again and again, reaching out to grab at the lights. They were so small, they were barely aware of the world. They couldn’t make much sense of what befell them. But they knew they liked twinkling red and green and blue lights. They reached out to grab them with their pudgy hands.

I say the word “pudgy” with affection.

Little kids are like big pillows with legs. You grab them up in a hug and they fill the room with laughter. Their eyes twinkle. They’re like human Christmas ornaments.

There were many years where the tree was the main feature of the holiday season. We always wrapped a few things, mainly handmade gifts which I prefer anyway. The girls squealed with delight at the discovery. I’m not sure what the peak age is for Christmas morning, I’d venture to guess it’s around 8, but I’m grateful for them all.

We used to tell our girls not to get us up too early, but the truth is our excitement equaled theirs. Often, we’d awaken before they did and wait in bed, silently listening. When the girls got up, they rustled like mice in the pantry. My wife and I would giggle beneath the sheets as the whispers began.

“Wake up! Wake up!” one said to the other. “Should we go downstairs and see if Santa came? It’s Christmas, it’s Christmas!”

The energy of excitement came pouring out of their room. We could feel it as we feigned sleep. We knew we’d change the energy by observing them. Perhaps it’s better to listen and imagine anyway. I have a memory that’s just as vivid as if I’d been watching. I see them in their pajamas sneaking down the hall making more noise in their efforts to be silent.

“We can’t wake mommy. Mommy said not to get her up early.”

“What about daddy?”

“Aw… daddy doesn’t care. But he sleeps next to mommy, so we’ll just have to wait.”

The rustling and shuffling and deep gasps of excitement followed them all the way to the top of the stairs. There, they could see the reflection of the lights of the tree, and that brought another shockwave of energy.

“The tree, the tree!”

“What about it?”

“It was off when we went to bed, now it’s on!”

In their enthusiasm, they’d forget to be quiet and they’d thunder down the stairs like elephants.

Thump, thump, thump!

And then the squeals of joy and laughter were brought to a whole new level as they found the presents. “He came! He came! Oh my goodness Santa came!”

It didn’t matter that there were only a few things, bought from the discount store on a $10 budget. The thing that mattered was the surprise, and the magic, and the excitement of time spent together.

I can’t recall my girls ever fixating on a particular toy. They never complained about what they received.

There was the year that they wanted Shimmer and Shine from the show about the cartoon genies. I remember that one because we walked through a department store in the weeks before Christmas and all the toys were sold out.

“Oh no! They’re all gone!” my youngest said.

“Have no fear,” replied my eldest with absolute confidence, “I’m sure Santa will find a way.”

I’m pleased to report that Santa did find a way, even if it took driving his reindeer to every department store within a hundred mile radius. Christmas morning brought with it Shimmer and Shine.

“Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!”

Worth it, even if those dolls were only played with for a day.

I can still remember my girls bustling beneath the tree. Little kids are delightful when they’re engrossed in an activity. I remember them in red dresses with white fur trim. They wore stockings that looked like candy canes and puffy slippers.

They chittered to each other like chipmunks. Turning and talking in something that was halfway their own language. The language of sisters. Then they’d turn back to the task at hand, sorting through the presents.

“Here daddy, this one is for you!”

“For me?”

Receiving a gift was like an interruption of the show. But then I’d look at them and see their eyes aglow and I understood that they were just as excited to see me open a gift as I was to watch them.

“Thank you!”

Then they’d gather round, peering in, and whatever it was, it was the best thing in the world.

It’s always over in a rush, all that preparation, all that planning, all that wrapping. The kids tear through it like a tropical storm, then their excitement lasts just long enough to play a bit before they crash. Who remembers breakfast on Christmas morning?

But I do remember the afternoons during the struggling years. My girls would always get an inexpensive watercolor set, and we’d sit together and make a painting. The gift was never the product, the gift was always the time spent together. Even when you don’t have much, you can give your children that and Christmas morning will be magical.

All of these discounts are forever.

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