Chistmas in Holyoke

I grew up in Western Massachusetts in the City of Holyoke, a paper mill town that had seen its glory days at the dawn of the 20th century. In 1897, the game of Volleyball was invented there. Our town fathers were not going to be outdone by Springfield, just a few miles to the South, where Basketball began in 1895. Throughout this largely blue collar town there were large sections of apartment buildings, often organized along ethnic lines. We lived in one of the biggest clusters of apartment buildings, simply known as "The Flats". The Connecticut River flowed close by. Our parish church and school, Holy Rosary, was a block away. It was mostly an Irish congregation. Immaculate Conception Church, mostly French Canadian, was also a few blocks away.

In December, a transformation took place every year. The first big snows of winter converted the dirty and dingy streets into a winter wonderland. Christmas lights and decorations appeared everywhere. Special music and sweets added a festive tone to this darkest month of the year. Excitement and anticipation ran at fever pitch as Dec 25th approached. One of my happiest memories is all the fuss my parents made over this holiday. Christmas was a big deal. We had a real tree in the living room, decorated to the max. Mom and Dad pulled out all the stops. We were encouraged to look through the Sears catalogue and circle the toys we liked with almost a guarantee we would get some of these things. Mom made special meals and even Dad seemed more cheerful. Without a doubt, it was the happiest time of year for all of us.

As an altar boy, I had the privilege of going to Midnight Mass by myself. Mom and Dad rarely went to church. They had many toys to assemble and wrap on Christmas Eve. I would leave the apartment at 10 PM, carrying my special red cassock and white surplice on a hanger, being careful not to drag it in the snow. From every direction, other altar boys joined me in a joyful march to the church. I'll never forget the first look I had of our "wedding cake" altar ( which was 3 stories high ! ), decorated to the hilt with poinsettia plants. We boys just stood there dumbfounded by the beauty of it all. Father Hallihan had us quickly dress up because there was choir rehearsal from 10:30 to 11:15. There is something striking and hauntingly beautiful when 40 pre-pubescent boys sing together as a Boy Choir. The altar, the incense, the vestments, the music, and the Latin Mass - it was intoxicating and awesome. After Mass, the altar boys would all walk home at 1:30 am with no adult supervision, pretty heady stuff for a 10-year-old.

I would come into the dark apartment where everyone was already asleep. I would tiptoe to the living room to steal a look at the presents, piled high around the room. I would then undress and lay in my bed, but real sleep was impossible. I would doze a bit, but by 5 am, my brothers were awake, itching with excitement. Mom had a rule : no one was allowed to get up until she rang a tiny silver bell. I'm sure our mad stampede to the living room around 7 am woke up the neighbors. We were oblivious to that. Everyone would find their pile and begin tearing into the presents. It was pure joy and mayhem for half an hour. I remember few details after this, since we all became engrossed with our toys. The traditions we celebrated were passed on to us and we in turn have passed them to our kids. Christmas celebrates God coming to us. I did experience that even as a boy living in The Flats.

Gary