Christmas Past

When I was growing up, Christmases followed a very specific pattern. Christmas Eve, we started off going to Grandma and Grandpa Campbell's. I felt this was a good choice to get them out of the way as (a) these were the "boring" relatives and (b) they gave fairly lame gifts. It was always a fairly quiet start to the night, even in later years when the events moved to Aunt Tina's (a/k/a Butterfly -- sadly, I am not making that up.) An hour or so hanging out with the Campbells, and then it was off to the Majkas. Good Lord, the Majkas. 

Every single year, the front steps were an absolute sheet of ice. I swear that my Uncle Henry must've come down ahead to time to pour water on the stairs. It was deadly. Just to explain, Hank and Sally lived in a duplex with Hank's mom (Busia, of course). We would start downstairs at Busia's and work our way upstairs. Everyone would pack into the living room, the television cranked up to 11, at least 10 conversations happening at once, everyone shouting in Polish and English at each other. Woody and Nana would be drunk already, Mom would be pissed that Nana was drunk already. Hank would offer us a drink that was all ice cubes and about an ounce of soda. God forbid you ask for seconds. "Another one?!") It was a hundred degrees and noisy and overwhelming. 

The most annoying thing: one of the Majka cousins was also a November birthday. Although she was a year older than me, she started school the same time I did. So, although she was in the same grade as me, she was a year older. In the first grade, she needed glasses but they didn't figure it out right away, so she got held back. So she's a year older but a grade behind. I'm sure you've figured it out. Not the Majkas. "How old are you?" "10." "What grade are you in?" "Fourth." "Wait a minute, Gail is 11 and in the third grade. Are you sure?" Yes, you are right; I am unsure of my age and my grade. Why must I go through this every year?

Somehow, everyone would get the magic signal and go upstairs, for more of the same. More shouting, more of everything (except something to drink.) Then it was time to head out to midnight mass. It would seriously take my mom an hour to get out the door. We would be in our coats, waiting, waiting, my mom acting like she was headed off to war. All of a sudden, we had to run off to mass. 

Midnight mass at CORC: one of my favorite things. Awesomely weird Christmas carols, folks from the past showing up, all candle light. It was so fantastic to have this hour and half (or more) of calm and beauty after all the chaos. I just loved that church. 

The next day was at our house. Morning was time for presents, then running around getting ready for everyone to come over. Much better than the previous day.

You know, when I was growing up, I always thought that it was all too crazy and too loud. There were years that I really couldn't stand it. But after we moved, I realized that I missed it. I missed the pattern, as crazy as it was. Our future Christmases were without an identity. Maybe it's easier to romanticize the situation, being removed from it, but I miss the nuttiness.