Fraternity-Testvériség, 2000 (78. évfolyam, 1-4. szám)
2000-10-01 / 4. szám
Page 6 A Trunkful of Christmas Memories by Emil Varga TESTVÉRISÉG My parents came from Hungary at the turn of last century, entering through Ellis Island and bringing with them two trunks. Those trunks contained very little of worldly possessions, only the bare essentials of clothing, a hymnal, and a prayer book. But they brought something else of value: their hopes, dreams and religious faith. My father’s trunk is now one of my daughter’s, and my mother’s - the larger one - is in the home of one of my nieces. My two sisters and I, being the children of immigrant parents, didn’t have much in our childhood, even when it came to Christmas. Looking back over the years, we find that Christmas did, however, provide us with what are now treasured memories. Santa Claus was never a part of our Christmas. The magic of Christmas for us was in the birth of the Christ child, the manger, the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, the stable, the shepherds, the star, the angels, the gift-bearing wise men, the camels, and Mary and Joseph. The highlight of the holiday for us was the beautiful Christmas Eve service at our church, where a stately tree was decorated with lights, ornaments, and strings of candy. Then there were the recitations of the children, the melodious Hungarian carols, and the inspiring message of the Christmas story. At the conclusion of the service, brown bags of oranges, apples, candy, and walnuts were distributed to the children from a wicker basket under the tree. We had our own Christmas tree at home, of course, which we trimmed on the afternoon of Christmas Eve. The trimmings included gift walnuts, mézes kalács (decorated honey bread), a few ornaments, and white candles. It was always a lovely tree, a live tree, with its own fresh fragrance and the smell of burning candles. (We didn’t have strings of electric lights until years later.) At twilight, the carolers from our church usually arrived, making the rounds of the homes of church members. As we stood around the tree with the carolers, I could almost see a lovely angel in every candle flame. I thought of the angels in the Christmas story, when after the shepherds had been told the good news of the birth of Jesus, “a multitude of the heavenly host” praised God, saying: “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors.” After the carols, my mother served her freshly baked walnut and poppy seed bread, and my father served his homemade wine in small glasses etched with grapes. Before we went to bed on Christmas Eve, we placed our shoes under the tree, and my mother opened the window so that Jesus could visit our home during the night. At the crack of dawn, we hurried into the parlor and found that the window had been closed, and in each of our shoes were ten of the shiniest pennies we had ever seen! That, for us, was Christmas! One year our tree caught fire from the burning candles - a constant threat during those years. Fortunately, we were in the room when it happened, so that the flames were quickly extinguished. It became for us a reminder of how Herod had tried to destroy the infant Jesus. And even as we succeeded in saving our tree, God succeeded in saving the newborn King, so that He could become for us the Savior of the world. One year on the night before Christmas it was quiet all through the house when suddenly there was a crashing noise on the attic stairs - and then, “Ma-ma!” My mother had gone into the attic to bring down the Christmas gifts she had bought us a couple of weeks before. Walking on tiptoe, as quietly as she could, she carried two large boxes in her arms. As she reached the turn in the attic stairs, she tilted the boxes in order to get around and under the rafters, and suddenly two dolls gave out a cry: “Mama!” In bed, my sisters pretended they hadn’t heard a thing, but they could hardly wait for Christmas morning to arrive so they could rush into the parlor to claim the dolls under the tree. They quickly opened the boxes and found two beautiful dolls - each with a crack in its face! My mother didn’t have much to spend on Christmas for us, so she bought what she could - two large dplls at a fire sale, with a slight crack in the face of each. But they were loved and precious for many years nevertheless. One of the most treasured gifts I received was my first sled, homemade by my father, the kind they had during his boyhood in the Hungarian villages. I was thrilled with it because now I could enjoy sledding with my friends on the dangerous so-called Dead Man’s Hill near our home. During the Christmas season, my younger sister would leaf through the Sears Roebuck catalog until she literally wore some of the pages to tatters. Among the things she saw there for children was a roll-top desk, which she hoped my
