Man’s mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its original dimensions.
~Oliver Wendell Holmes
“Merry Christmas to us!” Norm tossed two tickets onto the kitchen table.
I picked them up. “Really? The Barnum & Bailey Circus?”
My husband nodded, a boyish grin spreading from ear to ear. Bringing home freebies was the unexpected perk of being a reporter-photographer for one of the local television stations. As newlyweds on a limited budget, we appreciated these free dates, opportunities to attend a variety of events. But… the circus? During Christmas week?
I shrugged. Why not?
The following December, his twinkling eyes rivaled Santa’s as Norm handed me another set of tickets and waited for my reaction.
“You’re kidding…” I was at a loss for words.
“The pickins are slim this year, sweetie. Do we go?” He waggled his bushy brows.
Female mud wrestling? For Christmas?
I accepted the dare. “Why not!” I shot back.
And so it all began, the most un-traditional of Christmas traditions: to do something each holiday season that we’ve never done before, perhaps unexpected or challenging. As our family grew to include four children, we hauled them along for the memory-making moments.
One year, I read an article about a performance at a local church, a musical of some sort with a hometown, homegrown cast that included kids. Best of all, admittance was free.
We bundled up and headed out in a raging blizzard. The six of us joined a total of seven others scattered throughout the church’s cavernous, pine-swagged sanctuary. We picked a pew right up front, close to the action, where our children could have an unobstructed view. The “concert” turned out to be Amahl and the Night Visitors — an… opera. An opera?
Norm perused the program. He glanced down the length of the bench at our kids, his black brows inching upward. “Really?”
“They’ll love it,” I assured him as the lights dimmed and the show began.
The sound system squawked. The performers fumbled their words. The storyline dragged.
This family needs a growth experience, I reasoned as I shushed my restless four-year-old.
The songs increased in pitch. And vibrato.
This family could use some culture, I determined as I shook my head in warning at our ten-year-old, who was rolling his eyes and barely stifling his giggles.
The music got louder. More dramatic. More, uh, operatic.
I grabbed at the flailing arms of my daughters, aged nine and seven, as they silently mimicked, “A-maaaa-ahl, A-maaaa-ahl, A-MAAAA-ahl!” and gestured broadly in wicked imitation of the actors.
This family needs to… leave, I decided, mortified at the way our youngsters carried on. But our departure would be a huge distraction and, well, we comprised half the audience. I sighed, did my best to control my manic monsters, and suffered through the remainder of the musical.
I’m certain the cast suffered through us.
In the decades since, our yuletides have yielded a long list of un-traditions, a list that includes memorable, Christmas-flavored firsts such as sledding at midnight under a brilliant blue moon, hosting a break-the-gingerbread-house party, and researching and cooking a traditional Bethlehem meal.
We’ve shivered through an ice sculpture competition, hummed along during a Cranberry Pops concert, built an igloo after an epic snowstorm, strolled through a beggarly Dickens village, ridden a jingling sleigh through snow-hushed streets, watched the scenes of a live nativity — complete with aromatic camels and braying donkeys.
We’ve witnessed the twinkling festivity of The Plaza in Kansas City, the rollicking pageantry at Dolly Parton’s Dixie Stampede in Branson, and the solemn sanctity of Temple Square in Salt Lake City.
We’ve celebrated Hanukkah with Jewish friends and — most recently — sat spellbound with four young granddaughters during The Nutcracker ballet.
Some of these once-in-a-lifetime opportunities were growth experiences. Others exposed us to culture. And, admittedly, there have been a few we’ve suffered through. But all of them have enriched our holiday celebrations by broadening our horizons and deepening our memories.
Rarely do we search out these occasions. Most seem to find us. This year, kind friends offered us tickets to a holiday benefit for Opera Fort Collins. The evening’s entertainment will be a shortened version of their most popular Christmas production: Amahl and the Night Visitors.
We’ve accepted. Maybe we’ll invite our children — and their kids.
~Carol McAdoo Rehme
