It was a gathering of us seniors, a travel club. Nice friendly folks, lots of gray hair having a holiday potluck and fun-gift exchange. On the way home, driving carefully due to the icy roads and decreased night vision, I recalled a parallel event when I was in the eighth grade. Joyce, a shy classmate, must have been pleased with a little attention I had sent her way because she invited me to a Christmas party at her house. It was a new experience for me. Some of my more-edgy classmates, a ‘going together’ group, got into spinning the bottle. Straight me sat outside the circle. Hey, I had played St. Francis of Assisi in our school play… ‘Where there is hate, let me sow love’. This was a whole nother play.
Seventy years later, at another Christmas party, all us participants had gray hair (dyed or not). There was a good potluck. Gift exchanges. Lots of friendliness and Christmas cheer. But it was so different from that other party. For one thing, most of us were paired. Had been for some time…settled, secure. No open-ended poking, probing for new horizons to explore. At our age, typically, there’s friendship and sweetness with group togetherness making for another form of Christmas party¬—good cheer and friendliness without the underlying buzz of adolescent excitement. After all, we’re on the other side of all that, I kept saying to myself until a lady (I forget her name) who had some kind of Christmas sparkles embedded in her auburn hair, out of the blue, smiled at me. Really sweet. It’s easy to forget how much of the old game endures, waiting to revive with a little timing and touch.
So, I smiled back. Looked at my ‘exchange gift’, a pair of potholders decorated with hand-embroidered reindeer ‘up on the rooftop’. She had an empty wine bottle filled with a string of Christmas tree lights…sparkling wine? Nonsense gifts. I raised my shoulders…huh! She smiled again and rolled her hands in an ‘exchange’ gesture. I shrugged and nodded…okay.
So, yeah, there’s a lot the same over a lifetime. These days I wouldn’t have been interested in randomly playing kissy face. I don’t think my wife would either…for me, that is. The general excitement in our group was much subdued. We’ve all been there…done that. It’s different now. Quieter, slowed, but with an abiding respect for the spirit of the season.
Retired trainer, and writing instructor, Joe Novara lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Writings include novels, short stories, a memoir and various poems, plays, anthologies and articles. Read more at https://freefloatingstories.wordpress.com/
