The Christmas season brings myriad scents and sounds of mirth, and we don’t seem to mind the airing of jingles many times of the day for almost a month. We don’t mind observing the longest Christmas celebration in the world, we like to have the tree stand at a corner of the house till the last day of Christmas, and that would be on Three Kings Day. We like the sight of a million tiny lights twinkling at our neighbors’ and our yards, of many-colored lanterns hung on windows and balconies. Christmas is like that — it is so good, you’d like to hug and keep it forever.
The early Christmases I remember were of pageants in school staged by us pupils, and there were always Joseph and Mary, the Three Kings and shepherds and angels — all plucked from the classrooms. But the baby Jesus was a plastic doll we wrapped in white pillow cases. Jesus was always the doll my mother bought for such occasions, and I was Mary, bless me. But after each pageant, Mama would wrap the doll in Liwayway magazine pages and place it on top of her aparador. I asked why I couldn’t play with the doll, and she would always say, “That’s Jesus, and we’ll use it for the next pageant.” Mama was of course, very thrifty, and would not spend on another doll. Of course, I being her naughtiest child, would get the highest stool to reach and bring down Jesus and played with it — with my eyes and ears quick to discern Mama’s footsteps. I never got caught — a pageant that was replayed for two or four Christmases.
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In high school, I was part of the team that went searching for nice-looking trees that grew in swamps near the sea. I enjoyed this exercise. There were ten classrooms, and so we felled ten trees (at the time there was no such talk as preserving the trees and the environment), shed them of their leaves, and dragged them all the way to school.
I and my classmates took care of our tree, wrapped each leafless branch and twig with green or white Japanese paper. Then we placed cotton balls on the branches to simulate snow flakes (this was the beginning of our liking of western things), and hang tiny parols and bells and paper dolls.
The Christmas tree-trimming I could not forget was when I got into a fight with one of the girls trimming their trees next door. We must have exchanged jokes that did not sit well with either one of us, and we wound up doing a Manny Pacquiao — or Hillary Swank, if you may — except that I didn’t know how to use my fists to punch my enemy, so I used my legs to give her a karate kick of sorts. The school had fun watching us fight. But, anyway, before the holidays ended, Rita Villegas and I ended up as good friends, and she and I and another girl, Flory Lambatan, became known as “The Three Sisters of Gingoog Institute,” and were always asked to sing something during special occasions in and out of school.
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The Christmas I remember with a pang in my breast, is that of my spending it on a cousin’s farm in Masbate, and after the novelty of riding a carabao and swimming in ponds and climbing trees wore off, I began to miss my mother. On the day that I went back home, I found her sitting behind her sewing machine putting together a beauty queen’s gown (she was the town’s favorite seamstress), and it felt so good when she wrapped her arms around me.
And it was on another Christmas that I felt that same joy of being with my mother again. During the Christmas break from my freshman year at Silliman in Dumaguete City, I took the boat home with my brother Nell, a pre-med student, and again, I found Mama behind her sewing machine, and we hugged and cried from the thrill of being together once more. I remember, too, her parting words when I set off to Silliman again, then to Manila, where I would work for a newspaper — which were, “Be a good girl.” Well, Ma, I tried — being a good girl.
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And there was that Christmas morning, years earlier, when we kids found gifts under the tree. Every one of us nine children, including Greg, who was just a baby, had a gift. Mine was a nice T-shirt which I really loved. How could Mama have saved enough to buy us gifts, when we saw her scrimping and saving so she could make both ends meet? But she did save up, and made our Christmas happy.
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Jesus is the central character in our Christmases and lifetime. Without Jesus, we would never have Christmas celebrations. But we associate Christmas, too, with Mary, Jesus’ mother.
The small pamphlet, “Christmas Moments, Readings for the Christmas Season” (published by World Publishing, Grand Rapids, Michigan, USA), relates events from December 1 to 25 touching on Jesus’ birth. The December 8 and 9 vignettes are on Mary’s visit to her cousin Elizabeth, who would give birth to John the Baptist. Here are the readings on Mary’s visit:
“Soon afterward, Mary hurried to a city in the mountain region of Judah. She entered Zechariah’s home and greeted Elizabeth.
“When Elizabeth heard the greeting, she felt the baby kick. Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. She said in a loud voice, “You are the most blessed of all women, and blessed is the child that you will have. I feel blessed that the mother of my Lord is visiting me. As soon as I heard your greeting, I felt the baby jump for joy. You are blessed for believing that the Lord would keep his promise to you.” Luke 1:39-45
Mary’s reply would be the theme of the powerful musical arrangement called “Magnificat.” Mary’s reply to Elizabeth was full of joy. She said, “My soul praised the Lord’s greatness!/ My spirit finds its joy in God, my Savior,/because he has looked favorably on me, his humble servant./ From now on, people will call me blessed because the Almighty has done great things to me./His name is holy./For those who fear him, his mercy lasts throughout every generation.”
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Have a very Merry Christmas, and sing praises and hug your mother today.
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My e-mail:dominimt2000@yahoo.com