Come, they told me, pa rum pum pum pum
The lyrics of the Christmas song, The Little Drummer Boy, written by Katherine Davis in 1941, consist of no less than twenty-one rum pum pum pums. This song polarises people into two distinct groups. I have yet to meet someone impartial about it. When hearing this song, one group conjures up a vision of people pushing shopping carts in an overly busy store while kids are whining, lights on trees are flashing, and one risks being rammed by a shopping cart from behind because one is not moving down the aisle fast enough. The other group of people get a twinkle in their eye because the magical time of Christmas is around the corner and start to hum along softly under their breath, “rum pum pum pum”. I used to be part of the latter group. Every year, I wholeheartedly believed in the magic of Christmas. However, this year, I cannot find my Christmas spirit, and all that seems to linger around is the Ghost of Christmas Past.
A newborn King to see, pa rum pum pum pum
Our finest gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum
In South Africa, we celebrate Christmas during our summer holidays. Families flock to the coast to spend Christmas by the sea. We don’t have snow, cosy fireplaces or eggnog. Neither do we have reindeer nor pine trees. Instead, we associate Christmas with the beach, swimming, ice cream and family dinners outside on the veranda. On Christmas Eve, we sit under a starlit sky gazing into a bushveld fire, nursing our sunburnt skin. Christmas Day lunch consists of braaivleis (barbequed meat), potato salad, carrot salad with an orange juice dressing that runs on your plate, to make all the other food touch each other, and trifle for dessert. Decorating our family’s Christmas tree was a responsibility bestowed upon me as a teenager. I never liked the fake pine trees available in South African stores with their few skew wire branches wrapped in green plastic. I felt that if we couldn’t have a real tree, like in the movies, we should have an African tree, and so often, a branch of a thorn bush decorated with red ribbons would serve as our Christmas tree. Even though a South African Christmas looks very different from those in the movies, I probably still have Hollywood to blame for my idealistic Christmas expectations. I considered the festive season a magical time when people should let go of grudges and bad moods and come together to celebrate Christmas.
To lay before the King, pa rum pum pum pum
So to honour Him, pa rum pum pum pum, when we come
I have travelled to different continents to experience the magic of Christmas. We visited my in-laws, who are staying in New York in December. New York City is the epitome of Christmas. I fully understand why most contemporary Christmas music comes from America. Christmas in New York makes you want to break out in song. It felt like I was the main character in a Christmas movie, with any catchy Christmas jingle referring to snow, a sleigh ride or roasted chestnuts being an appropriate soundtrack for the scene. One cannot help but be swept up in the Christmas vibe, looking at the Christmas tree in front of Rockefeller Center, drinking hot chocolate at the ice rink in Bryant Park and marvelling at the decorated storefronts on 5th Avenue while the cold weather is nipping at one’s nose. I was fortunate to have my husband, his family, and my brother with me, and I indulged in the magic that a cold New York during Christmas time had to offer.
I also had the opportunity to visit the Christmas markets in Vienna, where I drank glühwein to ward off the cold and indulged in traditional Austrian food and pastries. I took a selfie in front of every decorated Christmas tree – there was one on every corner. Although Vienna in December is enchanting, I couldn’t help but feel something was missing. Despite all the Christmas cheer around me, I felt slightly melancholic because all I could think about was the people I wished to share this with who weren’t there. I realised that the magic of Christmas comes from the people one shares it with.
Little baby, pa rum pum pum pum
I am a poor boy too, pa rum pum pum pum
Christmas has been a stressful time in my family for as long as I can remember. We had to split Christmas Eve and Christmas Day between my Dad’s side of the family and my Mom’s side of the family because my two sets of grandparents did not get along with each other. Many a Christmas lunch was cut short because of a family fight that resulted in my granddad or uncle (and thus also my grandmother or aunt and cousin) leaving before dessert was served. Learning how my friends’ families spent Christmas, I asked my mom why our family couldn’t sit around the same table and be merry for one day. My Mom explained that some families just don’t work that way and that every family has its cross to bear. Yet, every year, I would decorate a Christmas tree, and on Christmas Eve, I would set the table, hoping that the magic of Christmas would be as omnipotent as in the movies so that everything would be okay on Christmas Day. Gift-giving was never a big deal for us because it was a religious holiday, and our family didn’t partake in the commercialisation of Christmas. Realising that my brother and I were struggling with the festive season, my Mom implemented a spending limit and allowed us to buy a small Christmas gift for each other. This arrangement led to some excitement but did not completely eliminate our negative association with Christmas. Unfortunately, or looking back, maybe fortunately, I realised at a relatively young age that gifts do not bring the magic during Christmas.
I have no gift to bring, pa rum pam pum pum
That’s fit to give the King, pa rum pum pum pum
Ever since I moved out of my parent’s house and started to earn a salary, I believed that I could control the magic of Christmas. I remained relentlessly hopeful that Christmas could be magical. I put great effort into getting the people around me to share my sentiments about the festive season. I would host a Christmas party for my friends at the beginning of December, usually with a theme, to serve as a year-end function and get everyone in a Christmas mood. Because I had the financial means, I started to buy gifts for my family and friends. I believe myself to be a fantastic gift-giver. I planned for months by listening closely to conversations about their needs and desires. I hoped that giving them something genuinely spectacular would make them share my excitement – bribing gifts, if you will, and I was handing them out without any shame. I started to host my own Christmas lunch. I learned to cook a leg of lamb and invited my family and friends who were on call over Christmas and didn’t have family nearby.
I wanted people to share my love for Christmas music because it contributes so much to the whole vibe of Christmas. I compiled a December playlist every year and shared a daily Christmas song with a few family members and friends. Because I know some people find Christmas music annoying, I made it my purpose to convince them otherwise. From the beginning of October, I would listen to different versions of the traditional Christmas carols and jingles recorded by various artists to get a new twist on a tired or irritating song. Starting the first day of December, I would wake up early to send the song of the day so they could listen to it on their way to work. Listening to the music would give them a bit of Christmas joy until the day before Christmas, especially those who had to work during the festive season. More of my Christmas preparations started in October. A friend shared her recipe for a traditional fruit cake, and I began to bake my own. From the end of October, I doused it weekly in liquor until the beginning of December, when it was saturated and ready to be eaten. To be honest, very few people still enjoy traditional fruit cake, and I realised it was another attempt to keep the magic of Christmas alive.
Regardless of my efforts, the warm and fuzzy Christmas feeling kept eluding me. I felt hollow instead of filled with love and satisfied with peace.
Shall I play for you, pa rum pum pum pum, on my drum?
Mary nodded, pa rum pum pum pum
This year, I struggled to be enthusiastic about Christmas. Listening to a podcast about the family dynamics during Christmas, I realised that, even now, at forty-one, with very few family members left and even fewer family actively part of our life, I still struggle with Christmas because I am reminded of my unmet needs. Christmas time causes a successful adult with a sophisticated life to regress to an expectant child.
A child with an idealistic picture of Christmas.
A child with hope, anticipating that things will be different this year.
Yet this child doesn’t understand that if the same role players show up at Christmas lunch every year, the outcome will continue to be the same.
Even though I now don’t always spend Christmas day with my family, I am still reminded that my family are wounded, and the child in me remains disappointed that the past could not heal after all this time. I comfort myself by saying that it is human to keep on hoping. It is hope that keeps the human race going, after all.
The ox and lamb kept time, pa rum pum pum pum
I played my drum for him, pa rum pum pum pum
I realise I need to mourn what is missing from my Christmas fantasy and grieve my unmet expectations of an ideal family Christmas. I also know that I need to allow myself, for the first time, to have a merry little Christmas (as the song goes) and let my heart be light. I am going to break the pattern and start to create my own Christmas traditions. I baked a fruit cake, not for sharing, but to enjoy by myself when sitting in front of my beautifully decorated big Christmas tree standing in my best-loved part of the house. I will cook all our favourite Christmas foods, even if it is just for my husband and me. I am creating a different picture of Christmas. Still, a small part of me will remain forever hopeful that as our loved ones evolve and their circumstances change, my wish for a Christmas with family and friends around a big table, heaving with food I cooked, all eating and laughing together might come true one day.
Merry Christmas!
I played my best for him, pa rum pum pum pum
Then he smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum, me and my drum.
