Christmas is almost here, and there is much for most of us to do-gifts to buy and wrap. More cards to send, even a few more decorations to hang. It’s also a time to reflect on the troubles in the world, our nation at war and the lost of many lives.
Than there is the unrest and attacks on the New York Police Department. Than there is the many diseases like AIDS and Ebola that have taken many lives and is destroying what many of us hold most dear. And finally, terrorism that is disrupting humanity and displaces many lives and communities.
The message this season is,” Peace on Earth and good will toward men.” Yet where is it ? This is when a lot of us reflect on the gentler of times of our past. I find myself thinking about a Christmas when I was young and America was not so troubled.
It was 1957, in the Cold War, but I didn’t much nor understand or care about such things. I was 8 years old, living with my mother and father and two blind boarders my mother would take care of in a corner house in Queens Village.
We didn’t have much but we always had a good Christmas-full of love and sharing and plenty of music, which my mother said was,” tonic for the soul.”
A few evenings before Christmas we set out to buy a Christmas Tree, but my father’s car would not start. It was a crisp, cold night and snow was on the ground and still falling. My father had an idea so my mother wouldn’t be disappointed: We took my sled to the place where they sold trees, about half a mile away on Francis Lewis Blvd.
When we got there, my father pick out a beautiful six-footer, tied it on top of my sled and guided it home. We sang Christmas carols all the way home.
Back at our house my mother had a special place in front of the fireplace for the tree. Our job was done once it was settled in the stand, than my mother took over, decorating it with love and devotion to every detail.
Kindness and love seemed to bounced from house to house in those days, neighbors greeted one another with a,” Merry Christmas,” as carolers sang from house to house.
Churches were beaming with worshipers. Christmas meant a lot back than, and I can’t help but wonder if that kind of Christmas will ever return.
The picture-perfect Christmases of our memories may have been laced with imperfections, but I still think they were better than the frenzied days we have today with too much commercialization of Christmas.
I can’t help but hope than America returns to family values, to live out the true meaning of Christmas-peace and good will toward all.
Frederick R. Bedell Jr.
Glen Oaks Village
