By Rebecca Fisher
Christmas time is that magical time of the year when everything seems possible, and it’s no different for the twenty-seven percent of America’s children living in single-parent homes. But it is a little less magical for the precarious budgets of those single parents.
Every day I wondered if I would have enough money for gas or groceries. Every month I worried I might not be able to pay the utilities, car payment or the credit card that helped us get by when there just wasn’t enough money to go around. And every year, around the middle of November, the slow churn of anxiety began over the obligatory Christmas gifts. I knew I wouldn’t be able to give my daughter everything she hoped for, which wasn’t much when she was younger, but our holiday culture demands every last penny be spent on gifts, and when our pennies run out, there’s the plastic card that makes it all possible.
Like most parents, I cherished Christmas mornings, when my daughter would spring from her bed, waking me with the sky still dark, and behold the wonder of Santa Claus. I wanted it to be perfect, which seemed impossible on my bare budget.
To combat the anxiety and guilt over the impossible, I focused on what I could control. The following are ideas and suggestions made to me by other single-parents that helped make Christmas our favorite holiday of the year without the anxiety, guilt and insurmountable debt.
1. Keep Christmas. The best antidote to the consumerism Christmas we’re all bombarded with is Christmas itself. Every year my family celebrates the greatest gift of all, Jesus - a gift of selfless sacrifice full of love and hope. We read, sing and watch His story together. The only literal gifts involved come from the magi, who offer all they have in thanksgiving and praise. When filled by that story, an iPod seems pretty petty.
But, alas, we are human, and part of our Christmas culture is the gifts. So unless I was going to cut that out entirely, I had to get creative. And I did, by sharing.
2. Share the list. I am blessed to have a large family and wonderful friends who love my daughter and help me raise her up. They are my village and they often ask what my daughter wants for Christmas. This is when I pull out the list and tell them exactly what she wants. Her grandparents often ask to buy the more expensive items. Of course, I agree. I have no interest in taking all of the credit. Most of it goes to Santa anyway.
3. Communicate with the other parent. While some ex-spouses are still busy trying to throw a wrench into every wheel of your life, some are more cooperative. With the latter, discuss what gifts your child wants, who will buy them and how they will be presented to your child. Why buy two of the same thing? Your child doesn’t need it and no one can really afford it. Work together. It will make for a much merrier Christmas.
4. Be honest. The older my daughter gets the more honest and realistic I can be with her when it comes to money. While we don’t need to burden them with all of our financial woes, it’s important to teach them the limits of money. We came up with a budget and she would prioritize. Did she want one large gift or multiple small ones? She gets to decide what she really, really wants and I get to give it to her, though she still thanks Santa…out loud, sitting right next to me with a big smile.
The older my daughter gets, the more she focuses on giving gifts rather than receiving them. I watch her experience the joy of giving and making someone’s day a little brighter. It’s a beautiful thing. Christmas became an opportunity to show her what’s really important about the day and to focus more on it myself.
Rebecca Fisher graduated with a B.A. in English and an M.S. in Education, and teaches high school English. Her own experiences living in a mortuary in Northern California and raising her daughter on her own serve as the inspiration for the many macabre and eccentric encounters in her novel. She lives in California with her husband and two daughters.
All the Wrong Places is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble online, and the Rebecca’s website (www.RebeccaFisherBooks.com) in both paperback and e-book format.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Keeping Christmas
By Rebecca Fisher
Full from the evening’s feast - a non-traditional potluck of spaghetti, garlic bread and salad - we gather around and grow quiet as he opens his bible and thumbs carefully through the pages, searching for the passage we hear every Christmas Eve. We fill in every inch of space on the sofa, love seat and wooden chairs carried in from each of our hotel rooms, gathered here from every corner of California.
There are twenty-five of us on average, each one with our eyes now on the patriarch. At ninety-one, his hearing is nearly gone, but his intent and determination unwavering. He reads, voice straining, of the highly favored Mary and obedient Joseph. My heart aches as the story unfolds…no room for our king, born in a stable…come in the most vulnerable of forms and into the humblest of circumstances…sought after by a merciless and cowardly ruler…soon to be mocked, scourged and crucified…sent to save us all by carrying the weight and curse of our sins. Through tears I rejoice with the heavenly host… “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and good will toward men.” He closes with a word of prayer and a reminder of the love of story-telling handed down to us all by my grandmother, who passed in 1999. He fights back a tear or two, thanking God for His son and our salvation. We wipe the tears from our eyes and prepare for the main event of the evening.
A stage is set, taking up the remaining part of the living room and the very humble kitchen. The scripts are passed to each of us according to our part in the play. It’s A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, adapted into its current form nearly fifty years ago by my grandmother. This play, born in a small California living room to seven children and their parents, is a tradition that has persevered through four generations and many different locales. We each take our role with anticipation and speak the words of Dickens who beautifully emphasizes family, thanksgiving, compassion and charity as the true spirit of Christmas, our true purpose here on Earth. Newcomers, whether new spouses or otherwise, are initiated with the role of the dead body of Ebenezer Scrooge. They resist the idea briefly, but eventually serve out their sentence, mercifully hidden beneath a make-shift shroud. We sing Christmas Carols as the scenes transition and the narrator unfolds the changing heart of Ebenezer…Silent Night, Joy to the World and finally, We Wish You a Merry Christmas with great emphasis on the figgy pudding.
Despite our lack of props, costumes and stage space, the story told year after year brings joy to everyone involved, mostly my grandfather, a retired Naval Captain, who has heard the story countless times, enjoying it no less tonight. He sits back and smiles, likely reminiscing of years gone by, years with his wife and children in that living room many moons ago.
The evening concludes with my grandfather dressed as Santa Claus (never breaking character, I might add), and passing out gifts to the family, helped of course by the youngest in the room who serve as his elves. Gifts range from homemade fudge and cookies to handcrafted book marks, scarves and jewelry. They mean so much more coming from the heart, much like the Magi who offered their praise with all they had. The day is a frenzy of preparation for this evening with food cooking, gift wrapping and multiple trips to the store across the street.
When Christmas morning arrives and after presents are opened and the customary waffles consumed in the third floor hotel room, we pack our bags, load the car and head back home, grateful for family, traditions and the gift of Jesus. Back home, while the world continues to water down the true meaning of Christmas with big red bows and holiday trees, we remember. We remember because every year we gather together and hear the true story of the holy infant and because we count on the promises He brings. And every day following, we count down to the next Christmas Eve celebration and wait with anticipation for our role in the play.
Rebecca Fisher graduated with a B.A. in English and an M.S. in Education, and teaches high school English. Her own experiences living in a mortuary in Northern California and raising her daughter on her own serve as the inspiration for the many macabre and eccentric encounters in her novel. She lives in California with her husband and two daughters.
All the Wrong Places is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble online, and the Rebecca’s website (www.RebeccaFisherBooks.com) in both paperback and e-book format.
Full from the evening’s feast - a non-traditional potluck of spaghetti, garlic bread and salad - we gather around and grow quiet as he opens his bible and thumbs carefully through the pages, searching for the passage we hear every Christmas Eve. We fill in every inch of space on the sofa, love seat and wooden chairs carried in from each of our hotel rooms, gathered here from every corner of California.
There are twenty-five of us on average, each one with our eyes now on the patriarch. At ninety-one, his hearing is nearly gone, but his intent and determination unwavering. He reads, voice straining, of the highly favored Mary and obedient Joseph. My heart aches as the story unfolds…no room for our king, born in a stable…come in the most vulnerable of forms and into the humblest of circumstances…sought after by a merciless and cowardly ruler…soon to be mocked, scourged and crucified…sent to save us all by carrying the weight and curse of our sins. Through tears I rejoice with the heavenly host… “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and good will toward men.” He closes with a word of prayer and a reminder of the love of story-telling handed down to us all by my grandmother, who passed in 1999. He fights back a tear or two, thanking God for His son and our salvation. We wipe the tears from our eyes and prepare for the main event of the evening.
A stage is set, taking up the remaining part of the living room and the very humble kitchen. The scripts are passed to each of us according to our part in the play. It’s A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, adapted into its current form nearly fifty years ago by my grandmother. This play, born in a small California living room to seven children and their parents, is a tradition that has persevered through four generations and many different locales. We each take our role with anticipation and speak the words of Dickens who beautifully emphasizes family, thanksgiving, compassion and charity as the true spirit of Christmas, our true purpose here on Earth. Newcomers, whether new spouses or otherwise, are initiated with the role of the dead body of Ebenezer Scrooge. They resist the idea briefly, but eventually serve out their sentence, mercifully hidden beneath a make-shift shroud. We sing Christmas Carols as the scenes transition and the narrator unfolds the changing heart of Ebenezer…Silent Night, Joy to the World and finally, We Wish You a Merry Christmas with great emphasis on the figgy pudding.
Despite our lack of props, costumes and stage space, the story told year after year brings joy to everyone involved, mostly my grandfather, a retired Naval Captain, who has heard the story countless times, enjoying it no less tonight. He sits back and smiles, likely reminiscing of years gone by, years with his wife and children in that living room many moons ago.
The evening concludes with my grandfather dressed as Santa Claus (never breaking character, I might add), and passing out gifts to the family, helped of course by the youngest in the room who serve as his elves. Gifts range from homemade fudge and cookies to handcrafted book marks, scarves and jewelry. They mean so much more coming from the heart, much like the Magi who offered their praise with all they had. The day is a frenzy of preparation for this evening with food cooking, gift wrapping and multiple trips to the store across the street.
When Christmas morning arrives and after presents are opened and the customary waffles consumed in the third floor hotel room, we pack our bags, load the car and head back home, grateful for family, traditions and the gift of Jesus. Back home, while the world continues to water down the true meaning of Christmas with big red bows and holiday trees, we remember. We remember because every year we gather together and hear the true story of the holy infant and because we count on the promises He brings. And every day following, we count down to the next Christmas Eve celebration and wait with anticipation for our role in the play.
Rebecca Fisher graduated with a B.A. in English and an M.S. in Education, and teaches high school English. Her own experiences living in a mortuary in Northern California and raising her daughter on her own serve as the inspiration for the many macabre and eccentric encounters in her novel. She lives in California with her husband and two daughters.
All the Wrong Places is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble online, and the Rebecca’s website (www.RebeccaFisherBooks.com) in both paperback and e-book format.
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