As we moved to adulthood and became parents the holidays seem to become more a time of stress than happiness. We are stessed about getting all the gifts in time; the battles at the mall for parking and then to get that definitive gift; wrapping all the gifts; trying to stay within an increasing shrinking budget; dealing with inevitable family dramas of who isn't talking to whom; preparing to visit with family and/or the inlaws or worse the family and/or inlaws come to stay with you. What happened to that joy that Christmas use to bring? What happened to that child that lived for Christmas? I wish I had the answer - I don't. All I can tell you is what helps me stay sane.
I try to remember Christmas Eve with my very large and loud Italian Family. I used this story in my book "Inside the Spaghetti Bowl."
Christmas Eve was our all time favorite event. We would rotate houses for each holiday but Christmas Eve was always at my parent’s house. We would bring in long cafeteria like tables and everyone had to bring folding chairs to accommodate everyone. It was like a Norman Rockwell scene if he was Italian. Picture this, twenty-two children, five sets of parents and Grandma Zaccari. There was more food than you can image plus a huge Christmas tree and gifts for everyone. We almost needed an extension to the house to hold everything and everyone.
For many years Catholics didn’t eat meat on Christmas Eve, so many Italians would do the seven fishes meal. We however didn’t do that. Grandma would try to make a squid thing – but it was terrible. All the grandchildren didn’t have to eat it since we were children and the Pope wanted children to eat something. It was amazing how many aunts and uncles volunteered to help the grandchildren and then eat with us to avoid the squid. Once the Pope lifted the no meat ban, Christmas Eve meals became legendary. The meal would start with spaghetti or lasagna, more times than not both. Of course there was ample amount of meatballs, and Italian sausage. Next was chicken or turkey, ham and every side dish you can imagine. Then of course there was salad, fruit and nuts. (Italians eat salad last). The desserts look like a scene from the Food Network show Cake Boss. There were several cakes, waffle cookies (pizzelle), fig cookies (cucidati) and cannoli. We learned at a very early age that a homemade cannoli is so rich, you can only eat one a year at Christmas time or you will have a heart attack and die on the spot.
We didn’t have just a meal, we had a feast. The kitchen was the sole domain of my mother, Aunts and Grandma. They all made sure everyone knew how much time and effort it took to produce such an amazing spread. They would complain about how tired they were or that they would appreciate a little help, but anyone who dared to enter the kitchen was quickly and often loudly dismissed. The Italian comedian Mike Marino does a routine about his Italian mother that describes the holiday meal perfectly. To paraphrase Mike Marino:
My Mother had one job and that was to make food everyday for fifty people. They weren’t there but she made it just in case someone came over. At every holiday she would say the same thing– “I’m getting too old to do all this cooking. One of you better learn how to make this meal, because I am getting too old and too tired. In fact you tell your Uncle Joe to take a picture of all of you eating because this is the last time I’m cooking.” Next holiday someone would try to help and my mother would throw them out of the kitchen. In fact I believe it was one of my very early female relatives who is responsible for the painting of the Last Supper. I bet it went something like this: “Jesus Christ, come here, I want to talk to you about something. First put your hair in a pony tail and put on some sandals, you know I hate it when you dress like that. You know Jesus; your apostles don’t appreciate all the food I make for them. I’m getting too old for this. One of your apostles needs to take a turn and cook. I’ll tell you what; this is the last time I’m doing this. In fact you call your friend Leonardo de Vinci and tell him to paint a picture of all of you eating my food, because I’m not doing this anymore this is The Last Supper.”
You know Mike Marino is 100% Italian, because at every holiday in every Italian home this story occurred.
After the meal, which took quite awhile, there was gift exchange, general family conversation then pinochle until 10:00 PM when Grandma would announce that someone had to take her to church so she could get a good seat for midnight mass. It’s 10:00. Midnight mass starts at midnight, but it didn’t matter someone had to drive and go with Grandma at 10:00. The selection was between one of Grandma’s children. My father and his brothers and sisters would draw straws or cut cards, or roll dice or make a cash bribe to determine the “lucky one” that would sit at the church for two hours before mass starts and then two more hours for midnight mass. The more rational people would head over to midnight mass shortly before midnight. The ones who did not go to midnight mass would take the home made rolls out of the freezer and start to cook Italian sausage so every could eat after midnight mass. People would get back to the house after mass about 2:00 a.m. and the feast would start again. Finally about four in the morning the party broke up. There was nothing like Christmas Eve.
So maybe one way to return joy into your Christmas season is to remember and talk to your family about the good memories from Christmas' past. Wishing everyone a very Merry Christmas.
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