Holiday memories to treasure – and avoid
It’s a complicated time: too much going on, far too many deadlines and self-imposed obligations. Yet I’ve noticed over the past days that people seem friendlier, especially in stores, despite the chaos of last-minute shoppers.
TV has become a significant component of this season and it too is complicated.
It seems almost mandatory to watch It’s a Wonderful Life. I like to imagine how the consummate actor James Stewart felt running across the set through plastic snow yelling, “Hello Bedford Falls! Merry Christmas movie house! Merry Christmas Emporium! Merry Christmas you wonderful old Building and Loan!”
Doing goofy stuff is all part of a day’s work for an actor. I cringe when I watch it again.
Yet even with all his frailties I like Uncle Billy, and my favourite is Clarence the Angel, brought to life by Henry Travers. Finally I ask, was it Mary or George who had the temerity to name their little girl Zuzu?
I know I have morphed into the Grinch by not loving that movie. I have even more antipathy toward the sappy movie White Christmas and anticipate the annual family disagreement about the merits of this turkey as our daughters, who love that thing, torment their dad by joining in the singing of Sisters.
I think I’ll have to go out when that’s on.
Counter to this, CBC hit a home run recently with Dreaming of a Jewish Christmas, a delightful look at Yuletide from a different perspective.
We are reminded that the music we hear and sing at this season was written mostly by Jewish songwriters from the 1920s through the ’50s. Irving Berlin composed White Christmas and it was the musical genius of Mel Torme that gave us The Christmas Song (better known by its opening line, “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire”).
In the documentary, we discover how big a role Chinese restaurants have in Jewish life on Christmas Day. In the movie A Christmas Story, which was filmed mostly in Toronto, Ralphie and his non-Jewish family do their holiday dinner in a Chinese restaurant. The filming took place in Batifole on Gerrard Street, which bills itself as “the best French restaurant in Chinatown.”
Jewish friends have given me their take on the Christian holiday. They mention the decorations, the lights and the general joy that seems to be felt. And yes, they wish non-Jews “merry Christmas” and mean it.
My treasured memory of the day itself was born when I did the morning show at the now long-gone CKEY radio station in Toronto. Unlike my colleagues I felt it was a privilege to be on duty on Dec. 25.
I did my show from Sick Kids Hospital, spending a few hours with the children not well enough to go home for the day. Some were luckier because, as one six-year-old told me, “Some of the kids got sprung yesterday and got to go home.”
A few dozen of those remaining had their visit from Santa, toys and holiday fare in one of the nation’s great healing places for kids.
When we moved here to London, we brought the tradition along and for several Decembers I was on the air from what was then the War Memorial Children’s Hospital on South Street. Funny though when Santa came, he looked familiar behind the beard — not a lot unlike the senior pediatrician. I confess I am touched when an adult tells me that they were a patient there on Christmas Day and took part in the show.
If this is a happy time, why are so many sad, lonely and hungry? Let’s do what we can to make it better for them, now and in the year ahead.