Christmas Eve was always spent at my Mum and Dad's home. A tradition that spread over our growing years into adulthood, marriage and children. There was so much joy, anticipation and laughter as we ate traditional foods and waited for midnight to open all our gifts. Dad was the biggest child of all asking every two minutes " Is it time yet"? The household was bright with Christmas lights and decorations. The Christmas tree was decorated with many ornaments that came all the way from East Africa and held so many precious memories for us. As children we would watch as mum and dad decorated the tree, carefully taking out the fragile ornaments that were wrapped in tissue paper for safekeeping. We were never allowed to touch them and amazingly we complied.
For Christmas Eve dinner mum always made her traditional Goan bone soup to start with. A clear beef broth lightly flavored and made satisfying with small pieces of beef, potato, carrots, rice and macaroni. I recall growing up at home when mum would make dad drive her to grocery stores until she found the perfect bones for the soup.
As we left the household to make our own homes and raise our families we would each bring a dish to help mum out on this special night. However, no matter how much we tried to lessen my mother's load we always arrived to find that the soup, pilau and sorpotel were already prepared. My mother had Christmas cake and Goan traditional sweets to add to the desert table as well. While we lived at home these delicacies were made and carefully stored away for Christmas. I would always hang around mum for the deep fried delicacies like kul kuls, angel ribs and neurios as she took them out of the hot oil. My patience was rewarded with a sampling of the goodies hot off the stove, thereafter not to be seen until Christmas celebrations.
Growing up in a Catholic Goan household with four siblings and a ten year gap between the oldest and the youngest, was a Bollywood movie in the making. I cannot comprehend how six people lived in a four bedroom townhouse with only one full bathroom, and still managed to shower, dress up and be punctual at all events. On Christmas Eve the household would all get ready for the Catholic Mass, which entailed fasting one hour before mass and donning a smart new outfit and looking your best. The bathroom should have had a revolving door as the litany of residents at 4oo Bloor Street East took turns taking their showers. Banging the door to hurry the current occupant to yelling for your parents to intervene was a normal occurrence. Unfortunately to add to the mayhem, my dad had raised us all to be toilet readers so trips to the bathroom were never short or swift! Having three girls and a boy as children also added to the chaos of the bathroom rituals. I often wonder how that tiny bathroom with one sink managed to house all those hair dryers, curling irons, toiletries and all the paraphernalia young girls and boys need to boost their self esteem!
Never-the-less half hour before Mass time the Vaz family of six was making their way to their 1972 Ford Gran Torino parked on the driveway. Much to the neighbor's amazement all six of us would disappear into the waiting car. Three of us older kids in the back and my youngest sister in the middle of mum and dad in the front. Of course since I was the expected peace keeper in the family I was placed in the middle. My older brother on my left and my younger sister to my right. This is when all the fun began.
If my siblings were in a happy mood we would all be laughing and cajoling in the back. However if my siblings were holding a grudge or in a bad mood I would be elbowed, poked, pinched and shoved as the siblings on either side of me tried to best the other with angry whispers and rumblings so the elders did not hear them. My mum and dad had perfected their role of being blind, deaf and dumb to the activities in the back seat and in the event they ever reacted we knew instinctively that we were all in trouble.
There was something therapeutic about our one hour visit to Church. Suddenly the angels and saints worked their magic through us and the Vaz children were a pinnacle of virtues as we walked up the aisle and sat together in harmony as a family. Our mouths moved to all the prayers and our bodies kept up with the ritual kneeling, standing and sitting when called upon. This did not give away the fact that our minds and thoughts were often miles away on other activities and had to be consciously moved back to the rituals on hand every so often.
After our evening Mass all the family was in excellent spirits as we drove home to the start of our Christmas Eve dinner and celebrations. Over the years our dinner table grew with spouses and grandchildren. My mum and dad would light up at the sight of each of us entering the house. We all knew that the grandchildren were now the new source of light and sustenance for my parents.
Christmas dinners were held with grandchildren sitting on my parents laps while they gave us a short respite from our parental responsibilities. Eating a meal with no interruptions was always a luxury when the children were small.
Through the years my parents carried on this Christmas Eve tradition even though not all the children or grandchildren were present at all times due to various reasons. Their eyes and words would reveal how much they wished everyone was present to share in their family meals. The ghosts of Christmas Past have been beautifully woven into memories of three generations that have learned to love and laugh and cry with each other.
In the ghost of Christmas Present we live with only memories of my dad since he passed away in 2016, and a courageous mum as she rallies around her children and grandchildren and looks on as she relinquishes her role of hosting the Christmas Eve Dinner.
The ghost of Christmas Present reveals a promise of new tomorrows. This year my son Alex and his wife Gunit hosted the Christmas Eve dinner and we exchanged gifts at midnight as is our tradition. I too have taken on the role of making the traditional Goan sweets since mum can no longer prepare these sometimes tedious recipes.
As we wind down our 2017 Christmas celebrations and look forward to bringing in the New Year, I cant help but wonder what the ghost of Christmas Future will bring to us. I do know without a doubt that the ghost of Christmas Future will promise to make new memories and miracles in the traditions that a once young man named Larry and his bride Clare did when they fell in love and married in May 1954. They went on to have four children, a boy and three girls with whom they never failed to make Christmas a time of joy and laughter for the family.
So I wind off with a cheer to the ghost of Christmas Future, and look forward to sharing another year with those I love, while re-living memories of those whom I have lost!
