A Christmas Memoir
BY: RACHEL PRINZEN
Images by Winta Assefa
2007. Baby’s first Christmas. It’s just Mommy and Daddy and I in our cozy downtown apartment on a December morning. Through the window I see snow flurrying in the cold, although I don’t know what it is yet. I don’t really know much about anything, actually. Daddy is giving me kisses on my forehead and spinning me through the air, while Mommy sings pretty songs in my ear. I’m getting a lot of new toys as well, (who knew I needed so many toys?) and Daddy seems more excited about them than I am. Although I’m not quite sure what is so special about today or why there is a prickly tree inside, the love surrounding me is enough to shield me from the cold that I have yet to endure.
2009. The snow is falling, but this time I’m watching through the taller windows in our new house. I’m not the only little one this year. Now, Daddy is singing pretty songs in my ear (although not as pretty as Mommy’s songs) while Mommy is cradling the new little one. The tree is big and bright and covered in pretty balls and there’s a sock the size of me filled with more treats than I can imagine. There are so many presents under the tree this year, but this time they’re not all for me. It’s okay though, because my new baby brother makes up for all the gifts he takes. I think Mommy and Daddy agree with me because of how smiley we all are. Especially after Daddy makes a really funny face and me and the little one can’t stop giggling as he squeezes us in a hug and Mommy looks over at us with so much love that I can almost hear her heart beating. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss simple moments like these.
2011. This Christmas me and Thomas and Mommy and Daddy go to Nanna and Nonno's house with all my family and cousin Cleo, who is a year between my brother and I, and basically my best friend in the whole world. I’m not even through the door when she ambushes me with her newest form of amusement that will keep us occupied indefinitely. The house smells like pasta and fish and all my favourite Italian desserts of the season, and the sports game on TV is white noise compared to the booming voices of my uncles and grandfather. Nonno tells Thomas and Cleo and me about his short-lived education back in 1940s Italy for as long as we’ll pretend to listen while Daddy makes everyone in the kitchen burst into laughter about something us kids don’t understand yet. I wish I could stay up all night and wait for Santa, but I can’t risk scaring him away, especially since Mommy says he won’t come if we’re awake. The night is almost too good to be true, and I have yet to realize how quickly it can all just vanish. Nanna smothers me with kisses and tells me “buona notte, Rachelina” and I sleep soundly until I can feel the snowflakes kiss the roof gently on Christmas morning, delivering the magic to each and every one of us underneath.
2013. By now, I can’t remember spending Christmas anywhere but Nanna and Nonno's house. In the basement with the cold concrete floor and the warmth of the open fireplace, Nonno roasts chestnuts the old-fashioned way and insists on making popcorn for the kids, despite Mommy’s frustration in her voice when she says, “Pa, they don’t need popcorn, they’ll be fine.” Nonno is always making sure we have something to eat, even if he’s never made it before and even if it turns out burnt and unsalted. Thomas, Cleo and I don’t have a care in the world because down on the old basement TV, a PG-13 Christmas movie called “The Holiday” is playing, and the adults are too high on their special drinks, old Italian card games, and laughter and conversation to notice. This year, my uncle and aunt (Cleo’s parents) gave the three of us matching penguin pajamas, and for the rest of the night, we danced around gleefully like the three musketeers until we couldn't keep our eyes open. I hope Santa has a safe trip to my house tonight.
2016. A month ago I prayed to a God, begging him for one last Christmas with Daddy. He didn’t listen. The cancer won twenty days before, and didn’t even let him come home. On Christmas eve Mommy packs up the gifts for the family before we head to Nanna and Nonno’s, and I take one last look at the horde of gifts under the tree that overflow onto the carpet, much like the overflowing sympathy cards that sit on the mantle. I find myself conflicted because I’ve never seen more gifts in my life, and can’t help but feel excitement wondering what will be uncovered tomorrow morning, but then a cloud of guilt hovers my head when I remember the circumstances as we head out to Nanna’s and Nonno’s for our yearly festivities.
This was the first year in a while we woke up in our own home on Christmas morning. I planned a whole special surprise for Mommy when she comes downstairs. I played her favourite Christmas song on the family iPad, the one that Daddy had bought years prior for his work but was really used between him and Thomas and I for playing mobile games galore, and threw red and green confetti in the air as she walked down the stairs, a warm smile flooding her face as she embraced me tighter than I expected after the mess I had made in the hall. Finally it was time to open our mountain of presents, and before Mommy could finish her morning coffee, every last one had been demolished. An empty feeling suddenly surged from my head to my toes. I thought maybe I’d be more happy today, but all I feel is guilty. Guilty for not enjoying my presents as much as I should, guilty for not giving Mommy a better surprise that she deserves, guilty that I get to be here celebrating Christmas while Daddy doesn’t. Maybe next year will be better.
2017. I love Christmas time. I get to see Cleo and all my favourite uncles and eat good food and chocolate and of course, get nice presents. I’m good at ignoring what happened last year now. It’s easy to distract from one tragedy to another. Nanna took a bad fall this year. All her kids are taking shifts spending time with her on Christmas eve, and Cleo, Thomas, and I say hi through FaceTime as she waves to us from her hospital bed. We watch the funniest, best, most awesome movie ever, Elf, on the VHS tape in our new matching pajamas, which has stayed a tradition for the fifth year in a row. Although Nanna isn’t here to celebrate with us, the joy and love that flows through the house is palpable, and when Nonno tells the story of his six years of school for the sixtieth time, I really pay attention and listen this time because I am at the age where his education ended and his labour began and he is telling the story with more passion than ever. “School, school is the most important thing you can have. Everybody will be so proud of you and you will be so smart. I was so good in school but I did not get to finish. You can be anything with school. You can be the president!” We live in Canada, of course, but I know what he means, and I also truly believe that he is the smartest person I know and could have been unstoppable if he was given the chance.
2019. I’m starting to see the world clearer now, and the “magic” that I always felt during Christmas was simply the utter and infinite love from my family all along. I pretend to believe in Santa for Thomas and Cleo as we arrange our annual plate for him set on the stone fireplace he supposedly travels through, included with cookies, milk, and carrots for the reindeer (obviously), although I have a feeling they are pretending too and are stretching out their years of extra presents for as long as they can. Ever since the fall, Nanna has been struggling more and more, and this Christmas she isn’t home until five because of her dialysis. I’m trying to spend extra time with her even if she can’t do much anymore--not even cooking, which must feel weird for her because that’s all she did for so many years of her life. I do miss her delicately made delicious Italian food, but I’m just happy she can still enjoy meals with us at all.
2024. I have my own little one this year. His name is Cody and he is the fluffiest, cutest thing you’ve ever seen. I finally understand a small part of what Mommy and Daddy must’ve felt with little me and Thomas all those years ago. Life is so good this year and I finally feel like I know who I am. The last four years were a blur, most of which I spent sleeping my life away, and I’m glad to have put those Christmases of melancholic misery behind me... or to put it less dramatically, being a teenager. The only thing I’m holding out for is my acceptance to Western. I’d probably trade all my presents for that congratulations email, if I’m being honest, and I know little me would be disappointed if she heard that but Nonno would be very proud. Cody is the first one to run through the door of Nanna and Nonno’s, and before we can slip in our hellos and happy Christmas eves, he’s already jumped on every person in sight. The night is filled with laughter and jokes that I understand and I start to realize how lucky I’ve been all my life for my Christmases to look like this.
📣 What Did You Think?
Your reaction helps us choose the top story of the month and gives the writer some well-deserved love.
Tap a reaction below to tell us how the story made you feel:
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rachel Prinzen is a high school student from Toronto, Canada. She loves burrito bowls, playing board games, and her dog. Her writing journey began as a kid when she would spend hours in her room filling up journals. A Christmas Memoir, based on various memories of her favourite holiday, is her first published story.
