How “family Christmas” has changed over the years
<p><em><strong>Rose Osborne, 67, was a registered nurse for 45 years before retiring to become a personal historian, owner and creator of <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://www.writemyjourney.com/" target="_blank">Write My Journey</a></span>, a life story writing service that turns memories into a beautiful hardcover book.</strong></em></p>
<p>Is family Christmas what is once was, or has it changed? I guess it is different for everyone but for me there are huge differences and I get the sense that I am not the only one.</p>
<p>Christmas in my youngest years was simply wonderful. They were held at my Nanna’s house and everyone I knew in my small world came for Christmas lunch. It started in Nanna’s kitchen full of the most delicious smell of turkey roasting in the wood-fired oven. Not that us kids were allowed in the kitchen, but true to our nature, we raced in on a pretend game of chase, so we could swirl our way through the mothers’ dresses and lose ourselves in the sheer heightened delight of Christmas excitement.</p>
<p>How we all fitted around Nanna’s big table in that dark dining room, I have no idea. The kids sat with the adults and we all became intoxicated with the laughter and chatter that filled the room, not to mention the warm and delicious taste of Christmas foods. </p>
<p>After lunch, Nanna took the grandchildren into her parlour whilst the mothers did the washing up. Nan banged so loudly on her piano singing along to her songs, her large frame swayed from one side of the piano to the other and caused me to think ‘she will fall off that small piano stool if she is not careful’. </p>
<p>Mid-afternoon saw the local priest come for a Christmas drink and everyone disappeared – except me. I sat firmly on the veranda floor and refused to move until Nanna conceded defeat and lectured me on sitting quietly - ‘it’s Father Victory you know’. Nanna had set up three outside chairs and a small table on her front veranda with a bowl of nuts, a beer for Grandad and the priest and a shandy for her. I know I was guilty of starring at Father Victory but I could not understand how a man who stood on the altar clothed in his beautiful ‘god’ gowns, drank beer and ate nuts – but his eyes never once returned my stare nor did his lips speak my name. </p>
<p>After tea as the night-time darkness took possession of the expansive skies so the twinkling stars could shine as perfectly as possible, my cousins and I lay on the soft sweet-smelling grass and contemplated all the magic of the day. Why is every day not like this, I remember thinking?</p>
<p>Eventually, Mum decided her family was big enough and we should have Christmas lunch at her place. I had eight siblings and we were all married with our own families and all lived out of town. Mum accommodated us all into her small 3-bedroom house for three days of celebration, food and happy events like dressing up as Santa Clause for the young children, games of darts and cards and just sitting under the coolness of the trees chatting in the close and personal scene that only a family can create. Mum cooked for a week to get it ready for us, but in the end, she had to say her pension could not cover the cost of the toilet paper that was used, let alone the food.</p>
<p>So, we moved on to having Christmas with our own families in our homes. My children loved this, as secretly, they hated the six-hour drive to Nanna’s on Christmas Eve and they missed showing Santa’s loot to their friends. So, Christmas lunch became a quite affair punctuated with sharing drinks with neighbours and friends who stopped by.</p>
<p>Now my children are married. One lives interstate and has married a Kiwi. They like to spend their Christmas vacation in New Zealand each year and only every so often, spend it with us. My other child, although local, shares custody of his two children and is on a rotating Christmas roster.</p>
<p>So that leaves my dear old husband and I with a family Christmas every other year and the alternating year hiding either in our home or in some rented accommodation somewhere, holding our breath and hoping no-one notices we are family-less on Christmas Day – no presents, no Christmas dinner and no Christmas tree or décor. We always do however, have a drink and wish each other better luck next year.</p>
<p>On reflection and in my calmer moments, I hear of other couples in the same situation. The situation may be like ours, or it could be Christmas Day must be shared with the in-laws. I hear of how young families don’t want to travel on Christmas Day as the traffic is so bad, the children want to stay at home and play with their toys, or families want a more relaxing Christmas Day and not the hustle and bustle of a huge family lunch. ‘It’s too exhausting’ one told me.</p>
<p>Whatever the story, family-less couples, like us, don’t broadcast the predicament – it’s like the elephant in the room. Our friends and other relatives know when it is our year to be family-less and no word is ever uttered – ‘the pre-Christmas celebrations are lovely, aren’t they’ they say.</p>
<p>Christmas Day is changing along with society and everything else. ‘It’s ok’ my optimistic husband preaches to me constantly – but for me, I miss the big family celebrations terribly.</p>
<p><em>Author note: This is the last of my articles for Over 60s. It has been a pleasure writing for Over 60s readers over the last two years. I thank you everyone for their comments and engagement, and I hope I have ignited and encouraged your love of your family history.</em></p>
