By Jackie KingI’ve always loved Christmas Eve, and that, my friends, is a great mystery.
As a child we opened gifts on Christmas Eve. My brother, sister and I couldn’t wait and Mother just wanted to get it over with. She wasn’t a Christmas enthusiast…except for putting on Christmas plays with her students at school. Everything else was another nuisance and unneeded expense. (She wasn’t a cruel person, just unusual…a woman who marched to her own drummer. And her drummer didn’t do Christmas carols.)
But nothing could discourage me. Not even the year I was 16 and received a gift-wrapped gift box of rocks. I was disappointed but not angry, not even hurt, really. That was just Mother’s idea of humor. But she must have realized belatedly that this was inappropriate because when I was leaving to go back to college (yes, I was in college at 16) she gave me back the turquoise chenille robe that I’d given her. (In her defense: she was a single-mom school teacher with three kids in college. She was in debt and her life wasn’t easy.)
Tonight I’m going to my family’s annual Christmas Eve party to be held at my oldest daughter’s house. My granddaughter, Lauren (who will head to college next year at the appropriate age of 18) will pick me up. That’s because a huge snow storm is toward both Tulsa and Oklahoma City and an extra car in the driveway would be troublesome.) I’m packing a bag and my Christmas stocking. Daughter Jennifer and her family will be with us, and gifts will be opened and enjoyed.There will be no wrapped rocks.
I’m not writing this as a sad story, but as a joyous one. In spite of every difficulty, I absolutely adore Christmas, always have and always will. And this, my friends, is one more story about the great mystery of Christmas.
Christmas hugs to all,