Twas the night before Christmas

Many families celebrated Christmas the right way this year. They stayed at home, dressed up, lit a candle, prayed and feasted to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ.

In the past years, our lives have been overtaken by all the commercial buzz of Christmas, making us forget the true meaning of the season.

These times bring us back to the nostalgic years of the Philippines after the Japanese war when life was trying to get back to normal. Families couldn’t afford to fill up their tables with holiday food. Christmas gifts were not the priority. Survival was the main goal.

Today, many families celebrated Christmas in the dark. Unemployment hit many homes. Death of a loved one brought sadness to the families. Lockdowns and quarantines kept the locally stranded individuals (LSIs), overseas Filipino workers (OFWs) and balikbayans away from their families. The homes celebrated Christmas with a simple meal, more prayer with the spirit of hope symbolized through our Christmas parol that hangs in almost every Filipino home.

These days remind me of the story my late father Maximo V. Soliven wrote and which I have also repeatedly written in the past. It is a heartwarming piece written by my late Tita Mercy Soliven David (my father’s younger sister) about their Christmas after the war. Here goes…

It was Christmas Eve, 1943, our first Christmas back in the city after the passing of a dreadful war that took away from children the precious thought that Santa Claus would again come to their homes to bring toys, candies and gifts and all the nice things children long for at Christmas time. And that hope for us was gone completely when Papa died.

Evening had come. Mama gathered us about her and together we sang “Silent Night” and other Christmas songs we knew. That Infant King must have been deafened by the fervor of the ten voices singing so loud that the cardboard Belen would shake now and then and the flicker of the lamp would shy away from the tremor of a misleading voice. Our Belen seemed right for a shack that was our home – standing behind the ruins and rubble of our old house.

Before the green painted abaca and make believe Christmas tree, were gaily wrapped boxes that looked like gifts, though they were empty. And as we prayed the rosary the little oil lamp threw a celestial glow upon the Infant’s face and He seemed to smile, stretching wide His tiny arms to envelop us all in His love.

“Children, better get ready…hurry up before the store closes. Or we’ll miss our window shopping.” This was the cue for us to scramble for the single comb we had, each taking his or her turn, with the four sisters tying bright ribbons around our pigtails and slipping into our pretty bakyas (step-ins) which were the newest things we owned. Our older brothers took great pride in their long khaki pants and shorts, and their G.I. shoes.

Mama, in her long-sleeved black dress, looked on us with pride. We were lined up ready and eager to leave on an exciting window-shopping spree.

I was then eight years old. We were keeping observance of a family tradition that for as long as I can remember our Papa and Mama carried out each year… to step out on Christmas Eve and to view the lovely multi-colored lighted Christmas trees and enjoy the sight of the toys, beautifully wrapped gifts and all the other nice things that would be representative of Christmas. But we knew that this Christmas we would not have any new toys. My oldest brother (Max), who understood things a lot better than us, made up an alibi that Santa was broke as a result of the cruel war. This satisfied our children’s hearts.

When we arrived at Escolta teeming with people all rushing back and forth, we marveled at the display of toys, feasting our eyes upon all the new things as though we were having a glimpse of Heaven!

The nine of us would fill the entire length of a display and press our noses flat against the glass pane in an effort to get as close as possible to the toys and the colored candies which were oh, so marvelous to see. When we stayed too long, Mama would remind us there were others behind who were similarly eager to get a closer view. The crowd was dense and Mama deployed, as a good general would, instructing me, being the oldest of the girls, to hold on tight to the two younger ones. My oldest brother held on to the younger boys. Our poor Mother had to carry the youngest one, who was too small to look over our shoulders to enjoy the sights. We kept exclaiming aloud in amazement at the things we saw. Finally, I could not help but burst out – “Ma, can’t you buy me that doll? Look at her dimples and her hair! Please Mama, buy me that doll!” My brothers cutting in – “Ma, this is the book I’ve always wanted!”

Now on the verge of tears, Mama answered, “My dears, feast your eyes on them and make a fervent wish and prayer that perhaps by next year you will receive all the things you want…” and her smile softened the painful longings in our hearts that night as we watched other children romp out of the store with boxes and boxes of gifts under their arms.

Suddenly, out of nowhere came a voice – “Excuse me, Ma’am, are these all your children, the nine of them?”

“Why yes! I brought them out to see these beautiful toys… you see, we’re just window-shopping!” The lady said, “I’ve watched you for some time and now I couldn’t help overhearing your children. Here is fifty pesos, Ma’am. Perhaps you could buy something for them this Christmas!”

This was a happy surprise for Mama and she could not say anything for some time – all she was able to say was – “Thank you! Thank you! May God bless you for this!” Before Mother could add anything more the kind lady disappeared into the crowd. One can imagine what happiness we had that night! “Now, children,” said Mama, “We can have a nice Christmas dinner after all!”

We arrived home that night, tired and exhausted but happy with the thought that, after all, our Christmas was going to be a very happy one! The preparation for the Christmas meal was full of joy and excitement. Looking forward to it made the Midnight Mass we attended at the Ateneo chapel seem long and dragging. But Mother reminded us that we should say some special “Thank you” prayers to the Child Jesus. So, obediently we knelt to adore the Infant. As we walked out of the Chapel, a familiar voice greeted us – “A Merry and Holy Christmas!”

Father John Hurley, S.J., well understood the gratitude that filled our hearts for at once he said, “Yes, I shall say a Thanksgiving Mass.”

As he watched us disappear into the darkness, a lady approached and greeted him. “You look happy, Miss Reyes,” he greeted her. “There must be some special reason!” Miss Reyes replied, “Yes Father! I feel the satisfaction and joy of having fulfilled the Christmas wish of a kind American officer. He gave me a fifty-peso bill to give to a needy and deserving family and tonight I met that family.”

“I know, Lulu,” Father Superior replied, “he certainly brought the joy of Christmas to nine orphaned children and a grateful mother who just asked me to say a Thanksgiving Mass for this kind stranger.”