Thursday, December 31, 2020
Dick Rozek
Christmas Traditions
“The theme is Christmas traditions,” Rob told me when he asked if I would write a brief personal reflection about it. “Yes, I can do that,” I told myself, and what follows is a glimpse into our family’s personal Christmases past. Rita, my wife and our family’s loving mom, was born into a French Canadian family in Barre, Vermont. My parents were Orthodox immigrants to America from a small Syrian village (pop. a few hundred). They settled in New Hampshire’s northernmost city, Berlin, back then a paper manufacturing colossus and the state’s fourth largest city.
Rita’s parents’ education, perhaps the equivalent of the 3 lowest grades, was in Canadian orphanages taught by Roman Catholic nuns. My dad’s father, whom I never knew, was the one village teacher back in Syria. My mother, born in America, was the eldest child and that automatically designated her as eligible to drop out of school to help raise her siblings.
Now that you know that much, I can reminisce a little about Christmas traditions for our own family and how that connects to what you’ve just learned. Christmas in our household was crammed with excitement and expectation and energy. Some years Christmas was spent here in the seacoast, in Portsmouth. Those years were filled with anticipation, hope, and joy, and of course, the beautiful St. John’s Christmas pageants with their wondrous story and the Christmas Eve mass. They began with the short trip to find and buy a tree for our living room. Then, the fun of decorating the tree with many lights, ribbons, ornaments, and silver tinsel, followed by the not-so-slow gathering of beautifully wrapped gifts under the tree. But, nothing compared to when the children were small and one of our sons awoke at 2am certain he heard Santa and the reindeer on our roof (it was me in the overhead crawl space trying disastrously to be discreetly quiet while Rita and I brought down pre-wrapped gifts to place under the tree)
Other years our family drove to Barre, VT or north to Berlin to enjoy the holiday with Rita’s or my family. Those, too, were filled with delightful excitement and glorious memories. Her parents were affectionately called Pepere and Memere). In Vermont we opened their gifts on Christmas morning and shared in delicious French-Canadian pork pies and mouth- watering home-baked raspberry pies. Always there was much singing, story-telling, Christmas meals, and visitations from Rita’s brothers and their families. Joyous is the expressive word.
Alternate years our family travelled north to Berlin where we enjoyed Christmas with my parents (Jido and Sito) and my brothers’ families. Christmas morn was filled with excitement, anticipation and laughter followed by delightfully delicious Syrian Christmas meals and pastries. Then, visits to cousins’ homes nearby and more reconnecting. Here again, there always was much singing and Syrian circle and line dancing (the DUP-kee) to music played on an old, but still working, Victrola (there’s a name out of the past!).
Yet, one thing more: in July we lost Rita to Parkinson’s Disease. We miss her daily and dearly and reflect often on her love for our family and our love for her. We see double rainbows and know that’s her telling us, “I’m here. I see you all and watch over you from here and I love you.” We love her back.
Who could have guessed: a French-Canadian woman and a Syrian-American man produced a blended American Episcopal family in which everyone loves each other dearly. But. that’s what Christ – mas is about, isn’t it?