Happy Christmas (War is Over)
(Lennon/Ono) Performed by John Lennon and Yoko Ono
So, this is Christmas
And what have you done?
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one
The old and the young
A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Lets hope it's a good one
Without any fear
And so this is Christmas
For weak and for strong
For rich and the poor ones
The road is so long
And so happy Christmas
For black and for white
For yellow and red ones
Let's stop all the fight
A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear
And so this is Christmas
And what have we done
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so happy Christmas
We hope you have fun
The near and the dear one
The old and the young
A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear
War is over
If you want it
War is over
Now
Well, I know I've already told this story somewhere, but since these Tunesdays have been appearing in pretty much chronological order, and since I am stalled in my grade nine year in the timeline, here once again is a story of Christmas 1981.
Earlier that fall, my Mum had taken me for a car ride -- there might even have been ice cream involved -- to break it to me that our family would be moving to Alberta the following summer. This was a big promotion for my Dad (who would no longer need to make the long and stress-filled commute into Toronto every day), it would give my juvenile delinquent older brother a fresh start, and of the most surprise to me, eventually making it out to Alberta had been my parents' big ambition all along (like so many of their Maritimer friends in the '70s and '80s). Dad had wanted the move so badly that when Canada Packers continued to block his requests for a transfer, Dad actually ended up quitting the company and taking an offer from Burns Meats in Red Deer. In the end, Canada Packers gave Dad everything he wanted in order to keep him -- and that meant a move to Lethbridge to become General Manager of the beef plants there.
I know I lost it when Mum told me all this -- it felt so unfair; like a punishment; like I was paying for the sins of my brother; the ambitions of my father. I had never lost the feeling of being an outsider after landing in Stouffville in the middle of grade three, and now that I was in high school, I couldn't imagine starting over again. I had remembered a girl whose parents moved right before her grade twelve year and that girl was allowed to live with her friend's family in order to graduate with her lifelong classmates, so I proposed that to my Mum: go without me, I'll join you after high school. Naturally, she was aghast, offended, and lost whatever sympathy she had had for me. I know I cried and cried, and when I told my best friend Cora about it, we cried together, too.
As Christmas approached, I was at Cora's one day and her Dad motioned for me to follow him. He handed me an armful of electric candles, and as we went from room to room placing them in the windows, he explained to me the Irish tradition of keeping candles burning in the windows in order to alert travellers to the offer of a warm place to sleep. He related that tradition to the Christmas story of Mary and Joseph, and when we placed and turned on the last candle, Cora's Dad said, "I consider you a member of this family, and as such, from now on it will be your job to place and light these candles every year." I was taken aback and blurted out, "But didn't Cora tell you? We're moving to Alberta next year. This will be my last Christmas here." Cora's Dad's eyes filled with tears and he said, "Cora didn't tell me that, but know this: Every year I will light a special candle just for you so that you will know that you always have a warm place to sleep in this house." And we cried together, too.
I think of that every time I see electric candles and they always bring a tear to my eye.
*****
I remember another story from this same Christmas, so I'm going to add it, too.
When we lived in Stouffville, my Mum's older sister, Judi, and her family lived four hours away in Ottawa. We got together every now and then but it was always a bit of an ordeal: they had money, we didn't, and apparently that mattered a lot to everyone. Aunt Judi's house was big, filled with antiques, and had rooms that kids weren't allowed to enter. They were also cheap in strange ways -- buying their clothes from the Goodwill and drinking powdered milk -- but my Uncle Dennis drove an Austin Healey in the summer, a Mercedes in the winter, and hosted boozy parties around the swimming pool. Their kids were the mirror of us -- boy, girl, boy, born in the same order within a year or so of us -- but they were also spoiled in the sense that they knew their parents had money that didn't trickle down to them. Lolo's Mum was a nurse with my Aunt Judi and she was always put off by the fact that my aunt volunteered every year to work over Christmas for the overtime, despite having small children: money seemed to matter more to them than family; it was always about appearances and Dennis loved to tease my Dad about his old car and my Mum about her second-hand furniture. Get the picture?
We went to Ottawa for Christmas when I was twelve (this was the year that my cousin Shelly told our Uncle Mike that I thought he was hot and wanted to make out with him, which was such a shocking lie that I couldn't even dignify it with a protest in case I sounded like I was "protesting too much"; a story told in more detail elsewhere) and that Christmas morning was a revelation to me. My cousins were grasping and whiney, and although everything they got was worth way more than anything we got, each of them were jealous and complained that we got the better gifts. Trevor got a huge pile (I remember a wood-burning craft kit, a KISS 8-track, an electronic tabletop bowling game) but he lost it when he saw that Ken got one of those new handheld football games --
The youngest, Wade, also had a large pile (of which I don't remember the specifics), but he so wanted my only large gift -- a giant stuffed Curious George -- that he immediately grabbed it away from me, which my Aunt Judi cautioned me to "understand". I had to let Wade (probably 9?) drag my main present around for the next couple of days and watch his tantrum as it was finally taken from him before we left for home. Fun kid.
All of this is basically background for the Christmas of 1981, when my Aunt Judi and her family came to our house for our last Stouffville Christmas. On Christmas morning, my brothers and I watched as our cousins got their usual large piles of gifts, and in the chaos of voices and flying wrapping paper and squeals and groans, I was stung to discover that I didn't get very much at all. Remember: I was severely depressed about the upcoming move, my friend's father had shown me more warmth and understanding than my own parents over the upheaval, I'm watching my cousins compare and complain about their stacks of gifts, and I don't feel very loved at all. I also remembered how awful it had been to witness my cousins' tantrums the last time we were together at Christmas, and not wanting to embarrass my mother, I stuffed down my disappointment and smiled at everyone who looked at me.
Eventually my Mum came over and asked if I had had a good Christmas and I lied and said yes and thanks for everything and she looked around me, frowned, and asked what I had gotten. I showed her the things from extended family and then what she and Dad had given me (I don't even remember what, but like a shirt and a pack of markers or something) and she started pawing through the paper and bows and, reaching under a couch, pulled out my actual gifts -- a deluxe Scrabble game and a Snoopy wristwatch. They were exactly the perfect presents, I'm sure I started crying (because typing this out is making me cry now), and my mother started defensively laughing at the idea that I could have thought I had been basically neglected at Christmastime. And, of course, the cousins complained that my stuff was better than theirs.
*****
In the end, I'm glad I remembered to add the second story: My parents were married so young and had so little money in those early years that I can't really blame them for having the ambition to reach for more. It can't have been easy for them to spend time with people like Judi and Dennis, and while leaving Stouffville was very very hard for me, it was good for them and they had a duty to follow their own happiness.
I got a Christmas card from my Aunt Judi this year -- I send cards out every year to all the old aunties but rarely get any back -- and as I was opening it, I said to Kennedy that notes from Judi could be a little sad at Christmas. I'm afraid to say that Kennedy was so appalled by the following that she giggled and "Oh-my-God"ed throughout as I read it to her:
I don't know whether you knew, but we will probably not be going South this Winter. Health issues (not terminal) make it difficult to get health insurance. If the weather becomes too crazy and health allows, we may have to try to get to Myrtle Beach for March. Who knows.
On our children front, Shelly's condition never improves much but she is coping. Kendra is in second year University in Environmental Studies and Dawson is surviving (ADHD and Other Issues). He is in Grade 9 (General). As you may know, Trevor is divorced from Mary Ellen and now has a new son Daniel with his Philippino girlfriend. Unfortunately, Trev has not been in contact with us for the most part in three years. It is very sad. Wade, Kim, and the 2 kids are doing great in Delta, BC.
Hope you guys have a great Holiday Season and you get to visit with Family.
Love, Dennis and Judi
I share this to point out what everyone knows but few people really know: the pursuit of money doesn't lead to happiness -- even when you get it -- and money is never ever the point at Christmas. My cousins were ruined even as little kids, and other than Wade who is "doing great" (and who lives about as far away from his parents as possible within Canada; last I heard, Trevor lived in the Northwest Territories), they seem ruined still. I cannot imagine what impelled Judi to write such a woe-filled message, and have to wonder how many cards she sent out with this same news (what Kennedy mostly laughed over were the parenthetical asides -- pointing out their health issues are not terminal, that Dawson is in a (General) program, that Trevor's girlfriend is Philippino -- what's up with that?). My own mother has never bothered with sending out Christmas cards, but if she did, she would have much happy family news to share -- we all turned out okay, and we all have kids that we're proud of -- and even though my parents choose not to live near us, I have developed an understanding for their need to pursue their own happiness to where it has led them.
Happy Christmas.
