Christmas Ritual Miracle
Arguing. It seemed to happen every year on Christmas Day when I was growing up. A few of my aunts, and most of my uncles who were not off fighting in World War II or Korea, participated.
As usual, the Byzantine Catholic Christmas celebration on January 7 was at our house because Daddy had his own business and we could afford to feed relatives who were as poor as church mice and as reproductive as rabbits. Plus, we had an indoor toilet.
My grandparents never owned a car so my father would drive to Kaska, PA, to pick up Baba and Yidda and other car-less relatives and deliver them to our house in Pottsville. Auntie Helen’s husband would drive the rest who couldn’t squeeze into Daddy’s Model A Ford.
When they arrived, they tumbled out like circus clowns, implausibly defying the capacity of each car. Then loud, raucous laughter. Squealing kids. Squalling babies. Hugs all around. Babble of Slovak and English.
Later, arguing.
Experts say that irritating comments from friends are usually allowed to dissipate, but those same kind of obnoxious comments from family members can fester into emotional wounds that erupt into screaming matches at holiday gatherings. Research also shows that Christmas get togethers are especially stressful because we feel obliged to be jolly and cheerful, even though at least one relative drives us nuts.
For my family back then though, when the quarreling reached its deafening fever pitch signaling that tears were ready to flow and pies might be smashed into faces, my father would put two fingers in his mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle, stunning everyone into silence.
Then he’d calmly say, “Baba is ready for the blessing.”
Everyone would take a seat, tempers spent, and a quiet peace would settle in. We’d all hold back our hair from our foreheads and wait our turn for the blessing.
Baba would stand, pick up a peeled clove of garlic and a tiny dish of honey from the table and begin with the person next to her. She would mark the sign of the cross on their forehead with the garlic, while saying, “May you be strong all year,” and then dip her finger in the honey and use it to make another cross on their forehead, saying, “May you be sweet all year.” Everyone was silent until the last person had been blessed.
That little ritual was like a miracle each year: after Baba finished, hugs would make their way through the whole gang, and goodwill and benevolence would reign once again for the rest of the visit.
Since she was the eldest of 13, my mother became the blessing giver after Baba died and today, I’m the one who has that honor.
Times have changed: we celebrate Christmas on December 25 now and there are no arguments at my house in Questa, even though more than 20 of us gather here on that day. Lots of laughs, yes! And hugs galore, but love and kindness rule the roost before and after the ritual.
Some of my friends have adopted this garlic/honey blessing for their own Christmas gatherings. Perhaps you might want to also.
Merry Christmas, Feliz Navidad! May you be strong all year and may you be sweet all year.
Love and Blessings,
Ellen
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