Contrary to what many others say, I am not a Scrooge when it comes to Christmas. I don’t know why colleagues, my daughters, other relatives and friends are always saying this about me.
Christmas is my favorite holiday, especially as we celebrate it here in America. It’s a combination of Christian holiday, European traditions and good ol’ U.S. consumerism. I love it.
When it comes to music and television specials, Christmas is the clear winner. Now if only the NBA would quit playing on Dec. 25.
I am approaching this Christmas with mixed emotions. My family will be celebrating Christmas for the first time since my mother died of cancer on Dec. 29, 2010.
For most of my life, Christmas centered around my mother’s family. When I was growing up, my sisters and I would open some presents on Christmas Eve. On Christmas morning, we would wake up early to see what Santa Claus brought us. Then we’d load up the car and head up to my mom’s parents’ farm in Carroll County.
At some point during the day, all of my mother’s six siblings and their many children would visit. I remember there was always a lot of people, a lot of food and a lot of noise. The DeLoaches can talk loudly.
At some point during the annual Christmas visit, we would go see my dad’s brothers and sisters who lived in the Grenada area. “The Corders like to get together and whisper to each other,” my mother once observed. Let’s just say they tended to be more laid back than the DeLoaches.
A couple of Christmases in Carroll County really stand out in my mind. One year, there was a heavy snow. It was my first — and so far, only — white Christmas. My father filmed some amazing home movies, mainly taken while we were traveling on the then-unpaved road to Grenada. I thought, then and now, the sight of snow falling in the woods is one of the most beautiful on earth.
A year or two after that, we arrived at my grandparents’ farm to find that they were killing hogs. I was still young enough to find the whole process fascinating. Now, if I saw this, I might throw up.
(My daughters, Amy and Emily, used to squeal in disgust when I told them about the Christmas hog killing.)
I know now that my father didn’t consider hog killing a good way to spend Christmas. Growing up on another Carroll County farm, he had seen plenty of hogs slaughtered, but it wasn’t something he wanted to see again.
Afterward, there was some debate among the family about why my grandfather chose Christmas as the day to clear out the hog pen and fill up the smokehouse with meat.
The theories include:
1. It was the first day where the temperature had been cold enough to kill hogs.
2. It was the first time that my great grandfather, Granddaddy DeLoach, had been free to supervise. My mom said her father never killed hogs or made molasses unless his daddy was there to supervise.
3. My grandfather knew he would have plenty of help at the farm that day. I support theory No. 3.
One of my favorite memories of Christmas while growing up was decorating the tree. Over the years, we collected homemade ornaments that we kids built in school and others that we collected on our travels. It was always great fun to put those on the tree.
However, my mother was very fussy about her Christmas tree. If you didn’t do it the way she thought it should be done, my mother would let you know. However, she regarded her granddaughters as perfect Christmas tree decorators.
Mom was still very particular about her tree last Christmas, even though cancer had robbed her of most of her energy and her ability to speak. Emily and a friend set up the tree and decorated it. I don’t know where they put it, but my mother told them the tree was in the wrong place and made them move it to its usual spot in the den.
This year, my father asked Emily to put up the tree. She put it up in front of a window in the living room, where it could be seen from the street.
I joked with Emily, “You put the tree in the wrong place. You’re going to get in trouble.”
Emily said she is in charge of the Corder Christmas tree now and she decides where it will go and how it will be decorated. Spoken just like her grandmother.
When the family gathers at my father’s house in Madison on Christmas Eve for our celebration, I know things will be different.
All of us will be thinking about the person who made past holidays so special for us.
But I don’t think it will be a somber occasion. We have too many good memories for Christmas to ever be mournful.
I’ve often told my children that no matter what tragedy befalls us, life goes on.
My mother often said that, too.
nContact Charles Corder at ccorder-@gwcommonwealth.com.
