Fond Memories of Christmas Past

I still remember with fondness my early Christmas experiences in the Philippines as a child. Christmas then – this was in the late 1950s – was simple and the traditions associated with the Holiday Season had not yet been commercialized. Family tradition was what mattered.

The family Christmas tree was an artificial pine tree. There were no twinkling lights wrapped around the tree because back then there was no electricity in my hometown. Underneath the tree was a small replica of the Nativity scene made out of colored cardboards.

I and my neighborhood friends would go caroling without giving prior notice. The spontaneity of it all made it fun, especially if some generous neighbors would spare us a few centavos that we equally divided among ourselves.

I don’t remember writing a Christmas wish list, but I was made to believe by my parents that I would get something from Santa Claus on Christmas day if I consistently behaved well.

One hour before midnight struck on Christmas Eve, either my father or my mother would wake me up to go to church for the traditional midnight Mass. My father would stay home with my youngest brother who was too young to come along. I had no recollection of my eldest brother, who was six years older than me, because he had his own set of friends and activities.

On the way to church, I would walk with my mother. Back then there were few “calesas” (horse-drawn carriages) in our town, but none plied at night. Thus, everybody walked. What made the 20-minute walk from our house to the church specially thrilling was the sight of so many familiar faces – relatives, friends, classmates, acquaintances, and neighbors – all on their way to hear Mass. It was like a social encounter of sorts. For many of the teenagers, it was a good opportunity to look amorously at some of the girls.

Inside the church, I would quietly sit beside my mother and observe pious-looking women pray the rosary as the priest, with his back toward the congregation, celebrated Mass in Latin. Latin was the common sacred language used in the Catholic Church during that time but never understood by the people.

During the homily which the priest delivered in the vernacular, the men sitting at the back of the church would go out to chat and smoke. These men who may have mistakenly thought that the homily was not part of the Mass must have tested God’s patience to the fullest.

My father was never one of those who stepped outside the church during the homily because he stopped going to Mass altogether. He once told me that he used to hear Mass when he was a kid. This gave me the impression that perhaps in his mind he had already reached his quota, making him exempt from going to Mass as an adult even on Christmas day.

What I eagerly waited for during the Mass was when a big lantern, fully decorated and hanging several feet from the ceiling at the back of the church, was pulled toward the altar just before the Consecration. Everybody looked up in amazement to watch the well-lit lantern. It was a sight to behold. I did not know what the symbolism of this was. But one could surmise that it was a way for the church to dramatically show the Body of Christ being illuminated by a big lantern up above quite like the bright star that the shepherds saw when Christ was born.

I observed that most men did not receive Holy Communion. But at the end of the Mass, they would approach the altar to kiss a replica of the Infant Jesus. The priest patiently held this replica as he waited for all the faithful to kiss it as a symbol perhaps of their respect for the newly born Savior. Whatever it was, I liked the brand of perfume that the priest used to make the replica of the baby Jesus smell good.

After the Mass, my mother and I would go straight home for the much-awaited Noche Buena (traditional Christmas Eve feast). The sight of queso de bola, apples, grapes, and chestnuts on the dining table was too tempting to resist. I did not bother asking my parents where they got them. I was more into eating rather than asking. After all, it was Christmas.

The bountiful feast lasted the entire Christmas day, coupled with the opening of gifts. The gifts I would get were inexpensive: a set of handkerchiefs, a box of crayons or a toy of some kind. But I cherished them. I learned at a very young age that the joy of receiving should never be equated with how much a particular gift cost.

On Christmas day, I was always delighted by the pastoras – a group of young girls from nearby towns who relived the birth of Christ and the role of the Blessed Virgin Mary through songs and dances. They performed in our front yard, and it was customary to donate a few bucks. I was thrilled by the pastoras not for any theological reason, but I found the dancers simply beautiful, especially with their make-up. My early crushes as a young boy were the pastoras.

These strings of events made my early Christmas experiences worth remembering now that I’m in my seventies. When the time comes, I hope my daughters would also enjoy reminiscing about the Christmas tradition that we, as an immigrant family, have started in the U.S.

Christmas celebrations may have changed over time in many ways. But I still enjoy reminiscing about my Christmas past although with a little bit of nostalgia.