Christmas Eve

Zann, I hope you don't mind I borrowed your picture. I love it.

Today I wish it was 1984. Today I want to be 8 years old. There are many reasons for this. #1. I would not have to referee the arguments between my kids. #2. I would not have been the children's church teacher today (bad day in C.C.). #3. And most importantly, I know just where I'd be tonight. I know just what I'd be doing. I know just who would be there.

If this was 1984 and I was 8, we'd be getting ready to go to Grandma M&M's house for Christmas Eve dinner. Mama would be gathering up all our Christmas finery and the presents for Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, and Grandparents. Bubba, Princess, and I would be too excited to listen to her.

We'd get to Grandma & Grandpa's mid-afternoon and settle in for the evening. The house would smell like Tabu, a wood fire, and Grandma's cooking. Aunt and Uncle Greenteeth (as Inkling has dubbed them) would be there with their baby & Inkling's family would sweep in with their luggage and presents. As Inkling was 10, and I was 8, we would be given charge (to an extent) of the younger ones. Inkling's brother J.L. would not have been happy that his sister and I were as thick as thieves, but when I would ditch Inkling to play with J.L. she wouldn't be happy either.

Grandma, Mama, and the Aunts would bustle around the kitchen fixing the turkey or ham or Swiss steak, chicken and noodles, sweet corn, potatoes mashed to Uncle Greenteeth's specifications, cranberry salad with and without nuts, pies, and cobblers awaiting the corner piece argument. Eventually Inkling and I would be called down to take drink orders and fill glasses.

Then the table tango would begin. Who sits where? Certain places are set in concrete. Grandpa always sits at the head with Grandma to his right (that has changed since we grew up and they moved). There's a special seat next to him at the head that one grandkid will fill, but who? Uncle Greenteeth sets at the foot with Aunt Greenteeth on his left...unless there's a baby to put between them. Uncle M & Aunt D usually settle on the side closest to the kitchen and my parents on the side by the bay window. Then the kids begin to shuffle for position. The littlest ones next to their mothers, us older ones fighting over the place next to Grandpa and each other.

Once everyone settles in, Grandpa says the prayer. One year Bubba hollers, "Grandpa, keep it short!" He'll ask the Lord's blessing on the food (for the nourishment of our bodies), thank him for our family, and thank him for the Greatest Gift of all. The plates are passed and the food is eaten and the talk is plentiful. Someone will joke that J.L. and I should get the mashed potatoes last so there will be enough for everyone, but Grandma always says, "There are more in the kitchen." Uncle Greenteeth taught me to put my corn on my mashed potatoes, and unless Grandma's made chicken and noodles I won't eat it any other way.

After dinner Inkling and I will lock ourselves in the bathroom to get dressed for Christmas Eve services. As she's always been a little more "girly" than I, I'll perch myself on the edge of the claw foot bathtub and talk as she preens. Eventually we'll be run out to help wrangle the little ones into their coats and allow Grandma to touch up her hair.

We'll jockey for positions in vehicles, no one wanting to ride in his own car, and head off to church. Once there we'll collect our white taper candles, and head to the family pew where Grandma and Grandpa have sat since the new building was dedicated. Inkling, J.L. and I would fidget and whisper in the dim light until we were threatened with separation, then we'd sit quietly and listen to "Sweet Little Jesus Boy" being sung off key. The sermon would start and we'd wait breathlessly for the darkness to come. The preacher would speak of Jesus being the light of the world as he held his lonely little candle for all to see. Then he would step down and light a candle in the front row and the glow would spread across the auditorium. "Silent Night" would be sung without accompaniment, then the lights would come on and we'd file out to begin the rest of our evening.

When we all get back to Grandma's we'd pile into the living room around the tree and wait for Grandpa to begin. He'd open his Bible and begin reading from the second chapter of Luke. "In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree..." One year he began splitting it up and letting each grandchild read a passage. Once the scripture was read, Grandpa or one of the Uncles would say a prayer. Then we'd pass out the gifts.

Inkling and I would usually get a dress made by Grandma from the same pattern, in different colors or patterns. We'd tear through the presents, watch Grandpa burn the paper in the fireplace, then rush upstairs to try on our new outfits. After the fashion show & a little time to show off all our new toys, we'd head back into the dining room for dessert. Once bellies were filled again, Mama would begin either bundling us up to head home, or putting us in our pajamas to get in the car and head the 2 1/2 hours to Busha and Bucka's so we could begin again in the morning.

This is why I wish I was 8 again...and Inkling was 10...and we were cloistered in Grandma's bathroom...instead of 32 hours apart. I miss my grandparents, my aunts, my uncles, my cousins, the fun, the laughter, the notion that every Christmas would be the same. I miss J.G. yelling, "GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST!!!" the first year he was given a part in the Christmas story. I miss being 8.