Spirits of Christmas Past

It’s that time of year when Christians celebrate their second most important religious holiday. The merchants have been promoting the Christmas sales for at least two months and will make one final effort on Boxing Day to improve their bottom lines. The movie studios, toy makers and greeting card designers have all done their work earlier in the year and now unleash their onslaught of Christmas offerings.

Raised in a Christian home, I have memories of Christmas Past that come to mind as the colourful lights sparkle around our neighbourhood and the Salvation Army folks appear with their annual appeal kettles.

I recall my mother telling the story of how they celebrated Christmas Eve in Commanda, now some eighty years ago. My grandfather and his brother had adjoining farms and on the sacred eve they would play carols outdoors to each other on their trumpets and coronets, the sound echoing off the crisp frozen hills. It must have been very impressive.

I remember the year my Dad and Uncle Gordon ‘discovered’ a new Christmas cheer made by mixing cherry brandy, rye and ginger ale. Word soon got out via the local hand-crank telephone and neighbours dropped in to test and approve the new libation. A rush trip was made to Powassan to replenish the ingredients on December 24th. My cousin and I managed to purloin a small mason jar of the stuff that we later regretted drinking.

One Christmas eve we children heard a racket outside around midnight. I shushed my siblings, saying it was only the guests leaving for home after a party. But my sister insisted she had heard Santa on our roof. The next morning there were tracks in the roof snow where a sled had landed on our house! Years later we heard the story of our teacher and Dad making the tracks with a board attached to a long pole, while my uncle rang the sleigh bells.

At a school Christmas concert I played the part of a restaurant guest who ate “MICE PIE” instead of ‘MINCE PIE’. Seeing the sign, I collapsed and the ‘doctor’ had to operate with saws, hammers, drills, etc partially hidden behind a sheet held in place by two junior graders. The adults thought it was hilarious when the ‘doctor’ held up a string of rubber mice, but my younger brother cried loudly, certain that I was dead.

Inevitably came the year when as an 8 year old, I announced to my parents that Santa wasn’t real. I got the explanation that as long as I believed there was a Santa, he would exist. I leaked the word to my younger sister but she would have none of my skepticism. That year I got a potato in my sock while all the rest got little gifts and snacks. Next year my stocking was up there with the others and there was no more nonsense about there not being a Santa Claus. Our son got the potato message and I’m sure our grandson will eventually get one too.

As a teenager we used to tour the area around Nipissing Village in Dad’s school bus, caroling and raising money for CARE. Even the poorest of folk had something for the box. ‘Granny’ Restoule always had cookies for us so we’d sing a couple of extra songs for her.

I also remember the Christmas day a couple of strangers knocked at the door and were invited inside out of the cold. We all wished them a Merry Christmas but when the reply was that they were promoting a religion that said Christ was not the Saviour born, Dad told them to leave. When the man insisted on continuing the discussion, my father, who was not a man quick to anger, grabbed the fellow by the collar of his coat and frog-marched him out the door, then turned to the lady and asked if she wanted to be next!

Early in the fall we would all draw a name from a hat and that would be the one gift we would buy for that year. It was always a big secret whose name you had and the order from Eaton’s catalogue was prepared in confidence with mother only. It was the most carefully spent five dollars of the year.

Santa of course got our letters and we listened each afternoon to the North Bay radio station to hear our letters read. It was amazing how often Santa got our list almost right.

A Christmas morning tradition was not opening presents until after breakfast and Dad had his second cup of coffee. He never had time for seconds any other morning and seemed to relish our extended anticipation of what lay under the tree for us.

Now, Christmas has become so very commercialized. Christmas is an economic must for us as it drives sales in so many places in the world. I wonder if those three Kings bringing gifts knew what they were starting. Certainly the trade in gold continues but I hear that Frankincense is slow this year. Hugo Boss tried Myrrh last year but it fell flat.

Today Christmas is different for me. The lights still go up and we do a little decorating around the house. Special food treats appear and gifts are exchanged, parties attended with good cheer to all. The Food Bank gets an extra donation, the Santa Fund and Sally Ann appeals are answered. I still know the words to some Christmas carols and can sing along when necessary.

But I no longer celebrate the Christian day. Just as I outgrew Santa Claus, I have moved beyond the Christian religion. The idea of Santa has replaced the belief in a man dressed in red coming down chimneys on December 25. Just as Santa appears in different forms, we have many different ideas of God. Our different ideas of god or gods are causing much turmoil in our world.

The current wars in the Middle East, while not openly religious wars, have the undercurrent of Christianity vs Islam vs Judaism. The Far East has its own problems as Sikhs, Hindus, Mohammedans and Christians struggle for control. A Christian Pope still doesn’t understand over-population, Aids control or homosexuality, although some of his minions have some first-hand knowledge on the later.

I suppose it is the fundamentalists or extremists in each religion that are the source of my discomfort. Clerics who teach their followers to be martyrs in the name of a god are not my kind of people. Those who promote intolerance towards other religions, races or classes demean themselves. I have no problem with those who practice their religion quietly and do not try to force their mysticism on others.

Perhaps someday, when we all come to an understanding of our being here on earth, things will improve for all of us.

In the meantime I send you a Humanist’s Seasonal Greetings and the wish for Peace on Earth for everyone.