Hungary Memories

Merry Christmas, Angels Admiring Baby Jesus

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I grew up in Hungary with my two sisters and brother. It was little Jesus who brought our presents, not Santa Claus. Around the middle of November, our parents told us to write our letters to little Jesus, telling him what we would like to get for Christmas. Our letters were collected by my father who warned us that we must behave, help around the house and make good grades.

As Christmas was approaching, our parents seemed to whisper to each other more often. But in our innocent world, we still believed in the miracle of Christmas. December was always very cold in Hungary and we did not have to dream about a white Christmas. We could always count on having plenty of snow, not just for Christmas but before and after.

In the afternoon of Christmas Eve my mother would say,“You kids go over to Mrs. Taylor and help her carry in firewood, clean the snow and do whatever she tells you to do.” We never questioned, we just did it. As we got older, we learned that this was the time when my father took the tree from its hiding place and set it up. By the time we got home, the door to the room was closed and we weren’t allowed to even look in there. My mother would warn us, “Little Jesus may come to our house if you are good, so stay out of that room, all of you.” We listened to Mom and wouldn’t dare to even go close to that room. Mom kept us busy in the kitchen helping with our special Christmas dinner.

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