Rum Punch and Nostalgia

After growing out of the childhood stage, one begins to ponder the real meaning behind the rituals of the seasons. Every year at winter time, we decorate the tree, mainly for the sake of the wee ones. We eagerly await the pretty lights winking on trees, homes and businesses everywhere. We meet happy people who forget their troubles, even if just for a little while, and enjoy the welcome days of stress-free peace.

The more fortunate will expect Santa magic-ing himself down the chimney, and awakening Christmas morning to wonderful presents under the tree.

Parents bundle us up, willingly or not, and off we go, heading to church for the season's praise and thanks for life and its many blessings.

Some of us kids are adopted, some inherited and some biologically bred, but no one could tell who was who, if you looked on from outside. We all fit together quite nicely, like mismatched pairs of socks.

We make calls to relatives and friends who are far away, sending gifts to those who need a holiday cheer. We offer gifts and kind wishes to those neighbors who are near, and transport gifts to the Children's home in the town across the way.

Then the noisy throng of family begin arriving to gather together, fuss over who will cook what, and whose dish will be best appreciated by the many branches of the family tree.

It is strictly forbidden to open presents until Christmas morning. But the kids always managed to thwart the adult rules and sneak some presents away when no one was looking.

There is non-stop conversation, everyone buzzing like bees with the news of the year which anyone may have missed. For there were many and varied topics to cover in the back and forth of the latest gossip, births, heaven forbid there were any souls bidding goodbye...weddings, birthdays, anniversaries and so much more.

Amidst all of the confusion, miraculously, food gets all prepared, eaten and dishes squared away.

In the warmth of the blazing hearth, everyone bundles up to drink more eggnog and the Caribbean Sorrel drink. The adults careful to separate the kids drinks from the more potent version, laced with Jamaican rum and everyone's favorite alcoholic preference in various degrees of drunkenness.

Little friendly and not so friendly family tiffs break out, always there are some agreeing with the state of things and others being more opiniated and stubborn.

The children all sneak away, leaving the grownups to sort out their mess in their insistence on drinking the foul tasting beverage and getting their minds all jumbled up and confused. We already snuck in and tasted it and decided it was not for us.

Unsupervised, we kids would run amok, doing all the things that we were forcefully admonished that we should never do all year round. We jumped on beds, sneaked into everyone's rooms, snooping into bags, opening presents which were not ours and marveling at the great many strange things which grownups hid in their luggage.

It would be years before we realized what some of them were, and washed our hands again for good measure. Ugh!

Finally, the house grows quiet. The adults tipsily went off to bed. Completely forgetting to tuck us in. We kids ensured that the doors were locked, no fires were burning where they should not...and that the ones sleeping all askew in the living room had a warm blanket and were nicely tucked in.

We ate a lot more cake and ice cream. Filled up and tired at last, we too went to bed.

The adults sleep late and we go out to play in the snow.

They wake up alarmed...finally remembering to come check on us. Yes, we all made it safe and sound.

Now we are grown and find that we are the ones falling asleep on the couch from drinking the alcohol laced punch, sorrel and eggnog.

Some have kids tucked away in our old beds.

It happens every year...Scout's honor.