Christmas Scenes in Historical Fiction

Christmas occurs several times in my trilogy, but none are as detailed as that celebrated in Slogans: Our Children, Our Future.  The polyglot observation of Unkurda's last Christmas fest is a compilation of family stories, research and my memories.  For memories, I chose the time I was growing up in Rockdale, Illinois.  A good portion of Rockdale residents back in the 50's were of Eastern European origin, so the Yuletide events I witnessed were representative of rituals from their part of the world.  Each street represented a different country.  While most children waited for Santa Claus, one street over Polish children awaited Mikolaj, while two streets down saw Estonians behaving for Jõuluvana, and on my street, Fisher, we hoped for the arrival of the Russian Ded Moroz.

Ded Moroz

Christmas in Rockdale

The holiday memories I chose to incorporate were those of a ten-year-old boy. On Christmas Eve my Uncle John and Aunt Elfrieda would join us for a gift exchange.  Of course, the gifts were important, but what followed was the stuff of cherished memories.  The main event of the day, as I want to remember it, was Midnight Mass at Saint Joseph's Catholic Church and what followed.

Saint Joseph Church - Rockdale, Illinois

Rockdale was a small village, perhaps 900 people at most.  No one lived too far from Saint Joe's, so Sundays would find the sidewalks crowded with women and children trudging off to morning Mass.  I'm sure men also joined us, but for some reason I don't recall them.  I have since been led to believe they were enjoying spirits of a different ilk.

About eleven-thirty on Christmas Eve night, my mother would bundle us up and accompanied by my aunt, herd us off to church. I was given responsibility to hold the flashlight and sweep the sidewalk for ice.  As we marched up Fisher Avenue and turned left on Meadow, other families joined our impromptu procession.  The flow of bobbing lights grew as we intersected Stillwell, Central, and Davis Streets and finally merged into a glowing ribbon for the last leg up Midland Avenue's hill to Saint Joseph.

My only clear memories of Midnight Mass was visiting the now completed nativity scene and the bag of hard candy the priest passed out as we left.  On the way home, my mouth watered, not from the thought of multi-colored candy, but in anticipation of the feast my father and uncle had prepared.  They spread the kitchen table with links of winter sausage they had lovingly roasted all day and my mother's baked goods: fresh bread, potica, ruskies, klutskis, and sprinkled sugar cookies in the shapes of reindeer, Santa, and bells.  On this night, not only was I was allowed to gorge myself on treats and drink coffee, but I was also permitted to join the adults until the wee morning listening to my father and his brother spin yarns of "years ago." These tales and my memories formed the basis of my novels' Christmas scenes.

Christmas in Joliet

Another Yuletide tradition was joining my mother's relatives on Joliet's east side, between Christmas and New Year.  Our first stop was always Aunt Teresa's on Landau Avenue for a viewing of her latest homemade ceramics.  Her home was filled with clusters of this newly glazed angels, multiple Santa, and enough shepherds and animals to fill every manger in the country.

Afterwards we would join the rest of the relatives at my maternal grandmother's home one block over on Henderson Avenue.  With nine children and thirty-five grandchild, Grandmas Mores' gathering was always complete chaos.  My aunts would bring their best food offerings, each trying to outdo their sisters.  But no matter what temptations they spread before us children, nothing could compare to Grandma's treat, oplatki. Oplatki are thin, rectangular wafers made from the same recipe and ingredients as the Communions host and are embossed with religious images, like the manger scene, the Virgin Mary, Star of Bethlehem, or Jesus in his crib.  For a small donation Grandma got them from the organist at the ethnic Slovak church, Saints Cyril and Methodius and doled them out to her numerous grandchildren to share.

Oplatki - Christmas Wafers

Grandma made us examine each image in detail before allowing us to cover the sheet with honey and enjoy.  I'm not sure if it was the taste or the fact we received it just once a year, but the memory of oplatki persisted. Like many of the old traditions, the Christmas wafer has disappeared from our family as the Old World generation passed on and American Christmas became homogenized and much more secular.  Some things aren't missed until their completely gone.  Perhaps the scenes I included in Slogans will keep the memories of Christmas "years ago" alive just a little longer.