December transformed pastor’s mother
Once a year, my mother traded sadness for joy
My mother, Delores Dement Anderson, was a single mother of four who was asthmatic and suffered from severe depression and anxiety. Each year, from January through November, life in our home at the dead end of NE 21 and Stonewall was filled with sorrow and despair. My mother was buried under the pain and rubble of her past. There were some good days, but the bad ones seemed to outweigh the good ones.
But during Christmas, it seemed to me, as a child, that God dug our mother and our home out from under the rubble of pain and the cloud of depression. Her dismal outlook on life suddenly turned effervescent. We, too, would all latch on to this vivacious and joyful “Christmas mother” of ours. She would rise early in the morning baking her incomparable fudge, cookies and shrimp potato salad, among other family recipes passed down from her mother, Helen.
We were poor, but she ensured we had the most beautifully decorated Christmas tree draped with angel hair, snow spray, garland, ribbons and bulbs. Even our front door was ornately decorated.
I cannot think of one thing I wanted that I never received for Christmas. Whether it was a Daisy BB gun, Tyco race car set or Tudor electric football. ... Well, I never received the pair of Kiltie Cole Haan shoes from Rothschild’s in
Each year during the Christmas season, my mother’s authentic, joyful, loving and vibrant version of herself would show up. This joy, beauty and hope was what my mother possessed while growing up ... before life happened.
Penn Square Mall.
Our home smelled like Christmas. The aroma of spice, evergreen and peppermint filled the air. Eggnog was al
ways in the refrigerator. Christmas nuts would be on display.
Our home sounded like Christmas. The Andy Williams Christmas album was spinning with my favorite Christmas song, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.” But our mother’s favorite was Nat King Cole’s “King of Christmas” album. At times, I would see her cry as Nat’s baritone voice with a perfect pitch would sing, “O Holy Night.” I’m confident these were tears of joy because, for this one month, she was experiencing the thrill of Christmas and the reprieve from depression it brought along with it.
After graduating from Douglass High School in 1952, “Life” happened to my mother, and during the mid- to late-1950s and beyond, she became buried under a spirit of despair.
She rarely ventured beyond our home, my grandparents’ home and the grocery store. She loved Stone’s IGA at Shepherd Mall.
Each year during the Christmas season, my mother’s authentic, joyful, loving and vibrant version of herself would show up. This joy, beauty and hope was what my mother possessed while growing up on NE 5 and Everest before life happened.
In 1976, while a student at John Adams Elementary on the southside, my teacher, Mrs. Linda Goombi, encouraged me to audition for the role of Santa Claus in our Christmas play. I got the part. I was so afraid the night of the play, but when I looked into the audience and saw that Mama had “shown up,” I felt an overwhelming peace.
Each year, when the Christmas season was over, I knew I had to wait until the following Christmas for my mother’s authentic and joyful self to return, but that was OK. It was worth the wait.
In 1985, the true meaning of Christmas, not just the season, entered my mother’s heart.
It seemed to me, as an adult, that God had finally and permanently dug our mother out from under the rubble of pain and the cloud of depression.
From 1985 until my mother passed on April 18, 1993, her once dismal life was filled with joy, laughter, family and most of all, the true hope of Christmas.
Rev. Derrick Scobey is the senior pastor at Ebenezer Baptist Church in Oklahoma City.