Right Jolly Old Elf

I sometimes struggle with Christmas as a parent. For me, Christmas brings so much magic, largely because of my experience as a child. We had yearly trips to the movie theater for the big holiday movie with our close neighborhood friends. We attended the ethereal midnight mass by candlelight on Christmas Eve. We traveled to my grandparent’s house where all the cousins would pile in one bedroom and my dad would sing ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas. 

I want my boys to have similar magical memories of Christmas. And, I think they will. The struggle for me arises when I realize how many of the parts of Christmas I love conflict with how we raise our kids the rest of the year. Sometimes, Santa feels like an elaborate lie instead of a magical herald of joy. Sometimes, the rush to get gifts seems like a box to check instead of a gesture of love. Sometimes, the decorations seem like a reflection of society’s excess, instead of an act of community. I can’t help but wonder if we were doing it “right,” it wouldn’t conflict with our parenting values at all. 

Last week we were reading the book Saint Nicholas: the Giftgiver, retold and illustrated by Ned Bustard. This book tells the history of Saint Nicholas as an activist for social justice, a missionary, a priest and a bishop. The books tell us that the genesis of his giftgiving was when he threw three bags of gold through a family’s window one night, so their three daughter’s would “avoid calamity” (be sold into slavery). This charming picture book weaves the historical St. Nicholas with the legend of the man with a belly-like-a-bowl-full-of-jelly in a charming way that reminds us that “Santa” brings joy and gifts because he’s a harbinger of God’s love.

And, I like that a lot. I like how this story reminded me that it’s not that hard to recalibrate Christmas. And I think that can be done without getting rid of the twinkly lights and Right Jolly Old Elf. We spend time with those we love, we act with kindness the best we can, and we forget about the naughty list. We offer help in brave ways. And, we remember that there is always magic in the world, but it’s only going to look like flying reindeer for so long.

Woefully Unprepared

I can recite a couple of prayers beginning with “Baruch atah Adonai” by the glow of the menorah candlelight. I also make a mean kugel.

I’m a little bit Jewish. Despite being raised in the Episcopal Church, my dad made sure to incorporate some of his family’s religious traditions into our childhood. Every Hanukkah we would light the menorah and get a bag of gelt, the gold-covered chocolate coins in a pinched net that hurt our fingers when we couldn’t wait for the scissors to open it up. My childhood playroom is filled with VHS tapes about the Maccabees.

Yet here I am, woefully unprepared to teach my own kids about this part of their family’s history and faith. This became evident this week when I took to the Holiday book box and the only Hanukkah books I found were two board books: Biscuit’s Hanukkah and Happy Hanukkah, Curious George! (Sorry, Bubbe! Just kidding, we called her Nana. But that would have been way better.)

Thankfully, Curious George gave us some good talking points. Especially the concept of mitzvah, which stopped me in my tracks while we were reading. It occurred to me while reading that my dad is a walking mitzvah — constantly in service to others. As children, he showed us that we don’t have to wait for the lighting of the menorah to be reminded to show love to others.

Self-awareness hit me that evening. Black Friday brings on this annual shift in which I become so focused on shopping and reliving my nostalgia through my children that I’m like this holiday-spinning Tasmanian Devil, until the moment we sing Silent Night by candlelight at church on Christmas Eve with the wax dripping onto my fingers. I often forget why we do this whole Christmas thing at all. 

Beckett and I brainstormed ways we could be of service. I suggested a beach clean-up or seeing if a neighbor needs us to pick up sticks in their yard. We live in a maritime forest, so he thought that idea was so ridiculous he heckled me for about five minutes. Otherwise, he was on board with getting our hands dirty helping others. Hopefully I can show him that, like his Papa, a mitzvah is a great way to celebrate what we believe, no matter where we light our candles.