Charles Dickens introduced the readers to the classic tale of Ebenezer Scrooge. In Dickens’ novel A Christmas Carol, Scrooge is a miser old man who frowned upon Christmas. A heartless man as he is, he believes that the celebration is a bane to his hard earned money every 25th day of December. But his eerie encounters with the three spirits resulted to his dramatic change of heart. On the first night of the visit, the Ghost of Christmas Past showed him his pitiful experience as a child. On the second night, the Ghost of Christmas Present made him realize what kind of person he has become. Finally, the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come presented to him his own tragic fate and those people who care for him. At the end of the story, we saw the transformation of Scrooge. From a bitter old man he became a friendly and generous person who embodies the true spirit of Christmas. If you have not read the novel, go and find a free copy of it on the net. Or, better still, you can watch the many movie versions of the book, or catch the television specials.
The memories of my childhood are replete with stories about Christmas. I grew up in an ordinary family that celebrated Christmas in a rather simple way. I don’t remember any gigantic tree adorned with lights. We had no exchanging of gifts wrapped in colorful boxes. We never went on a holiday trip to nearby destinations or distant lands. But the absence of these wonders did not make our Christmas unexciting. To my innocent mind, it was a season to look forward to at the end of the year with so much awe and merriment.
At my young age, my parents introduced me to the jolly fat man Santa Claus. My siblings and I would hang big socks by the staircase and wait for Santa to fill them on Christmas eve. We believed that Santa could enter the house through the smallest holes in the windows or door. (We don’t have chimneys in the Philippines.) The magic of curiosity made my childhood memories of Christmas alive. True enough, on Christmas day, we would wake up to see our socks filled with chocolates and toys. Christmas was also the time when we get to wear new clothes. My brother and I would usually sport almost identical shirts except for the color or design. I would usually get the blue shirt and my brother would get the red one. I would get the Ernie and he would get the Bert of the famed TV program Sesame Street. When I reached the fifth grade, this magic stopped. Our parents told us that Santa would no longer come to drop off his gifts because we were already grownups. That was also the time when my father lost his job. This Christmas, I am expecting the Ghost of my Illusory Christmas to come and visit me.
Thanks to my caroling days, I knew how to sing a lot of Christmas songs and tunes. As December starts, we children in the neighborhood would assemble every night. We would hop from house to house to sing the carols, from the traditional favorite Pasko Na Naman to the mind boggling Twelve Days of Christmas. We flattened bottle crowns and strewn them together in a wire for instruments. With full confidence, we filled the neighborhood with our croaking voices. The opening of doors was the happiest moment of the night for us. After receiving our gifts, we wished the giver good luck, good health, and God’s blessings. Before midnight, my playmates and I would divide our loot like the pirates of the Caribbean. Each member of the choir would be getting at least 50-centavo coins. I realized that the size of the house we caroled was not a predictor of the amount of money given to us young carolers. The imposing houses surrounded with bright flickering lights would not open their doors. Most of the time, they would dim their lights in the middle of our caroling. We take it as a time for them to retire to bed and that we should never disturb their sleep. They never heard from us again even in the next Christmases that came. This Christmas, I am awaiting the Ghost of my Euphonious Christmas.
When I reached the high school age, the Simbang Gabi gave a different meaning to my young heart. The excitement of falling in love seems like yesterday. The trysts after the midnight mass with the girl I was so smitten with are forever treasured in my memories. Oh, the folly of youth and the tale of lost love! I wish I could go back to that time and relive those moments. This Christmas, I will be happy to hear the knocking on my door of the Ghost of my Lovesick Christmas.
Death in this most cheerful time of the year is unimaginable. Losing my father several days before Christmas was the most heartbreaking event. In the middle of the festivity, we were trying to accept the harsh reality that the head of our family was gone. It was the saddest Christmas as far back as I can remember. The dancing lights that adorned the hospital hallway did not mean anything to me. The carols that filled the cold air sounded discordant to my ears. A fatal stroke that had befallen my father dashed my wish for a complete family on Christmas. The massive cranial hemorrhage and blot clot in my father’s brain took him away from us. After a week of confinement in the intensive care unit where he laid comatose, my father left us in December of 2002. Instead of buying the gift for him on Christmas, I remember choosing the casket for my father’s funeral. Instead of decorating the house, my family was making arrangements for his burial. With a heavy heart, I would welcome the Ghost of my Grief-stricken Christmas to drop by my bedroom.
For some believers around the world, the Christmas celebration this year is a bleak one. The solution to the misery this pandemic is inflicting upon us seems unlikely. What good is there in observing this sacred tradition? There are restrictions for families and friends from gathering together. The fear of catching the coronavirus hinders us from merrymaking. But for many, there is no reason to skip or postpone celebrating the yuletide season. Come to think of it, the Son of Man himself had never think twice about his coming long time ago in Bethlehem. He did not postpone nor cancel his holy birth in spite of the dangers awaiting him. He did not change his mind in spite of the many errors men had been committing against the will of his Father. The Messiah came to live among us amidst the turmoil and chaos of the world and continued to do his mission to redeem us all.
We may be celebrating this year a different Christmas. But for me, it is about time to go back to that Christmas that celebrates the real reason of the season. And that reason is no other than God’s immense love for us.
On this note, I wish you the same thing that Tiny Tim exclaims at the end of the novel, “God bless us, everyone!”
Photo by Greyson Joralemon on Unsplash