Every Christmas morning during my childhood, I would awaken early, quietly turning on my clock radio to listen to festive carols. I would then dash downstairs, squeeze myself behind the television, and gaze out through a narrow window in our family home, catching a glimpse of our neighbors’ Christmas tree. The Thompsons, a large Catholic family, would be gathered around their tree. My hazy childhood memory recalls a dozen children, though it was likely closer to five or eight.
As I watched those tall, blonde teenagers unwrap gifts—vinyl records, cozy sweaters, funky socks—I felt a wave of self-pity. I questioned what kind of god would condemn me to a life devoid of Christmas trees. The answer came to me: the same god who asked Abraham to sacrifice his son.
A Yearning for Connection
As I approached the age of eight or nine, I took my yearning a step further. I would don my winter coat over my pajamas and sneak outside, standing in the tight space between the Thompsons’ house and mine. Or, at least, as boldly as a young girl in pajamas could while crouching behind a bush, longing for the quintessential American experience that seemed forever out of reach.
The youngest siblings, Lily and Emma Thompson, were undeniably cool. Even now, I strive to emulate Lily’s effortless style. Emma, once she was old enough, taught us all the words to a catchy tune that still lingers in my mind. I cannot hear that song without picturing her in our basement, racing toy cars while teaching my sisters and me the lyrics.
A Magical Christmas Morning
One Christmas morning, Lily caught me peering into their window and waved for me to come inside. Initially, I feigned invisibility, but the reality was that I was painfully visible. So, I made my way around to the back of their house and stepped into the Christmas magic I thought I could never possess.
The scene was more beautiful than I had ever imagined. Christmas carols filled the air. Mrs. Thompson had decorated the tree with candy canes and even let me enjoy one before breakfast. I was up close for the present opening, and when one of the Thompson boys received a football, we all rushed outside to play. My joy was akin to a lifelong sports fan suddenly being asked to play in a championship game.
Life Changes and New Traditions
Years went by, and I eventually moved to Paris. As the only Jewish photographer at my agency, I worked every Christmas so my colleagues could enjoy time with their families. At 24, I married a man who would never entertain the idea of having a Christmas tree in our home. He simply refused, and I didn’t feel strongly enough about it to argue.
After twenty-three more Christmases without a tree, I found myself in a new living situation post-divorce, taking in two roommates for support. Zoe was a Christmas enthusiast, bringing home boxes of decorations, while Derek, mourning his husband’s recent death, was determined to have a tree adorned with black ornaments. I finally thought, why not? It was time to get a tree!
I anticipated it would feel rebellious to acquire a Christmas tree, but once we set it up, it turned out to be just a tree. It smelled nice and looked lovely, but lacked the enchantment of the Thompsons’ tree. My children had no memories tied to it, and it couldn’t evoke the deeper meanings of family and tradition like our Shabbat candles did.
We did hang some candy canes on our tree, reminiscent of the Thompsons, and opened a few gifts that morning. However, it felt forced, as though we were impostors in our own celebration. Afterward, I suggested we partake in our usual Jewish Christmas tradition: dim sum in Chinatown followed by a movie marathon.
Contemplating the Future
This year, I’m still considering whether to get a tree. Without roommates, my eight-year-old has been pleading for one. I might give in, if only for the sake of aesthetics and his happiness. Yet, I’m ambivalent about it.
On the other hand, I would never skip the chance to hear the lovely Suzzy Roche perform Christmas carols at her annual charity concert in New York. This year, she sang alongside her daughter and ex-husband, and I attended with a dear friend, both of us navigating recent heartbreaks. Midway through her set, Suzzy shared how Christmas, while often portrayed as joyful, can also bring feelings of solitude and sorrow.
As she sang “Everyone Wants to Be Loved,” a tribute to her late friend, the emotional weight of her words resonated deeply, bringing tears to many in the audience. In that moment, I was transported back to the warmth of the Thompsons’ living room, realizing the tree was never the essence of Christmas. It was the love shared among those gathered that mattered most.
The True Spirit of the Holiday
In the end, the true spirit of the holiday is found in our connections with others, transcending any specific celebration.
In summary, the experience of Christmas, whether through the lens of nostalgia or current realities, reveals that what we truly seek is love and belonging, regardless of the traditions we may or may not celebrate.
Keyphrase: Christmas reflections and connections
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