I remember when I was a young girl and could not wait to turn 18 years old. Then I would be all grown up and have no one to tell me what to do. Unfortunately, I forgot to tell time to slow down once I reached that age. Another year is upon me and it’s time to set goals once again. This year instead of posting every two weeks, I have decided to post once a month to relieve pressure of myself. I don’t consider myself to be a gifted writer, but I like to force myself to do it since English was my major. I will also attempt to publish stories that are more personal to me and include some of the life lessons I’ve obtained while living through them.
As I sit back at home and look at the empty tree which was laden with gifts not to long ago, I think back to Christmas time when I was a little girl in the Dominican Republic. I don’t remember my family having a tree, and unlike the American tradition, we did not have a big meal or exchange gifts on Christmas Day. We usually enjoyed the traditional meal of moro de guandules, pigeon peas and rice, pastels, an entire roasted pig, and other traditional Spanish dishes on Christmas Eve, which we called La Noche Buena. The day began with much fanfare. The pig needed to be selected; I always hated the sound it made when it was being slaughtered. Most of the day was spent preparing the meal. That night our family would gather outside to eat and drink throughout the night.
Instead of exchanging gifts on December 25, we exchanged them on January 6. This is when we celebrated Los Reyes Magos orThree King’s Day. It was a great event for us children. My brothers and I would place grass and a glass of water under our beds. We were told that the Wise-men would replace those items with toys. The grass was for their camels and the water for their thirsty throats after such a long journey. And to our thrill, when we woke up in the morning we found toys in their place.
When I arrived in the United States, I was told that toys no longer came from the Wise-men but were actually delivered by a man called Santa Claus. What’s more, no longer were the gifts placed under my bed, but I could find them under the Christmas tree on Christmas morning. We still celebrated our Noche Buena but instead of roasting a whole pig we just did the leg called pernil. The children were sent to bed about 10:00 p.m. while the adults continued the celebration. At midnight my mother would wake us up and we would run to the tree to seek out our toys.
With my own family now, our traditions have changed dramatically. While we have continued the tradition of making a pernil and occasionally pasteles which we eat on Christmas Day, instead of on its eve, no longer do I bring in Christmas drinking and partying. I am blessed to say that my entire immediate family has accepted Jesus as their Savior – so we begin Christmas Day with prayer and devotions. Before any gift is unwrapped, we sit around the tree, give thanks and take turns recounting the many things God has blessed us with throughout the year. This is the tradition I would like to pass on to my grandchildren. While I intend on having them experience pernil and pasteles, most of all I want them to experience a relationship with the person for whom all the fanfare should be about: our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I am looking forward to another year!