At the gratifying ages of 83, [[Peggy) and 84, [[myself), we have enough good memories, since our childhood, to carry us through the Christmas Holidays.
We keep plugging along, a day at a time. My stories shore us up when an occasional cloud tries to intervene.
For instance:
As a maverick Catholic, I have little identification with the commercial hoopla that inundates the Holiday Season . [[I have since become a non-denominational Christian.)
I remember, extremely well, the dedication and regimentation that the Church demanded of us during our green years. The pomp and ceremony of the Church that dominated the Holy Days in those early years, relegated Santa Claus to a supporting role. Of course, the lack of money did not allow for the plethora of junk toys and fad clothing that seems to determine a successful Christmas in the present era.
Christmas was not just a day or a long weekend. It was a two week adventure of devotion, duty and exhilaration. The mystery was both spiritual and temporal. "Was Christ really born in a manger? Will I really get that Lionel Train that costs Seven Dollars?" Many depression children had nothing but faith. Getting that one single toy was a catalyst for the ultimate expression of faith. There really must be a God!
With that thought in mind, we would go to Mass and give thanks. Getting the toy was the penultimate Christmas celebration. The ultimate climax was going to Midnight Mass, not with your parents, but with your peers. The pyrotechnics of the Fourth of July paled by comparison to the display of splendor and majesty that was, Midnight Mass.
This year we will give a very special thanks to our immediate neighbors and friends who helped us through a troublesome time. Peggy has regained her voice and we are walking again and that says it all for us.
Bookmarks