We are at one of the bigger shopping centres to put our family’s contribution under the K-Mart Wishing Tree. I pull open the bag and hand one each to the children. Kneeling down, I explain what we are about to do.
“We’re donating these presents to other children who don’t have much at Christmas – if anything at all – and we’d like to help them have a happier a day than they otherwise would.”
Riley tosses his on the pile, too young to fully comprehend the act and too distracted by the nearby chocolate display to be careful. However Keira waits as another girl walks up next to us to make her offering; then she moves forward to do hers, copying the other girl’s touching gentleness, making sure not to damage the gift.
Then she stands up and asks for McDonalds.
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I can’t help but see some parallels between this scene of offering and the one of the nativity, where gifts of love and celebration are offered to another child, a baby. While my own religious feelings have been ambiguous – at best – for years, I am trying to raise the kids with an awareness of others, to instill compassion; things which are never the property of the devout alone. So instead of going to church these other traditions are as important, at least to me, and hopefully they will remain so in the years to come.
That said, every time we’re in Savers (a thrift store) and I walk past a satin or silk dress designed for an eight or nine year old girl, instead of, “What a lovely flowergirl dress” I think, “That would make a lovely first Communion dress.” Yes, the promise of the ‘princess moment’ comes before marriage for the Catholic girl when we wear our whites to receive that sacrament and, in my case, that ‘princess moment’ obviously hasn’t left me either.
My mother made this while I was in my Anne of Green Gables (mini-series) mania. I demanded my sleeves be just as puffed as the dress that Matthew gave her was. Then my mother got frustrated and said that material was expensive and so came to an end to my diva demands.
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There is an undoubted magic about this time of year as some of us are about to celebrate the birth of a special baby. I like to think of it as a mass celebration of the birth of all babies, and I’m sure that’s how others see it as well, looking beyond the presents and the alcohol and the fulfilling of holiday obligations. This year will also be different for us. There will be a hole. Someone is missing, someone who loved Christmas.
I was writing out tags to stick onto the presents yesterday afternoon. I wrote, “Dear Dad” on one. ‘Dad’ meaning Adam, and then it hit me I didn’t have to write out another ‘Dad’ one meaning Ron. I put the pen down and stared at that piece of card for about a minute. I suspect if I hadn’t been a ruined Catholic before, that’s when it would’ve happened.
