Kalila Volkov

Celebrating Christmas in Kentucky sounded as odd to me as watching a frail, elderly woman ride a skateboard. I was accustomed to our family tradition of being home for the holidays in New England. But in 1978 I was a young college kid whose parents were recently divorced and I no longer had the same home to return to. That Christmas I felt exposed and vulnerable as I began looking at life in new ways: as the grown child who had left the nest, as the young woman with parents living in separate states, as a guest in Mom's new Kentucky home with her changing holiday customs, and as a semi-stranger to my aunts and cousins whom I barely knew. I was aware of Southern hospitality, but I didn't expect to be so surprised by this group of jovial women who gave me a Southern-style Christmas I would never forget.

What made this Christmas sparkle in my memory was that my grown relatives did not act like mature adults. My cousin suggested that we take a little drive to see the house that was annually adorned with a huge lighted Elvis placard on the rooftop. Snow had only dusted the town but we still needed to bundle up from the cold. Piling into the car just before dusk on Christmas Eve, we drove across town to gawk at the gaudy celebrity decoration. Elvis was depicted in his typical pose---standing with legs apart, knees bent, microphone in hand--and his image was surrounded by bright blinking bulbs. My aunts were such a lively bunch, they decided that we stand on the sidewalk by the house and sing one of Elvis's tunes, “Blue Christmas.” The five of us belted out the refrain with plenty of twang and dramatics. We had only made it through the first chorus when the front door swung open and out popped a young boy of about twelve. Our singing group promptly snuffed our giggles when we noticed that the boy in the doorway was holding a shotgun! He made it clear by moving it in our direction that we should end our taunting display immediately. Aghast but still chuckling, we dashed away and finished another chorus in the car. As we drove through the neighborhoods and gazed at the colorful Christmas displays, I felt awkward about poking fun at the tacky Elvis fans. On the other hand, the cheery presence of these women comforted me. Being a young adult, I hadn't yet read any Southern women authors so I didn't fully appreciate what a “hoot” these folks were, but I admired the spunk and sassiness which seemed to be an essential part of their characters.

The festive tone continued through the evening as company came and went from my aunt's house. Fortified with lots of sugar and a little alcohol, we revelers agreed to stay up late and attend Midnight Mass. The hush and reverence within the glowing sanctuary filled me with peace and joyful expectation of Christmas Day. Our row of merry ladies sat piously for the ceremony up until Holy Communion. At that point I became aware that there was a disturbance in our pew, for it seemed to be rocking or shaking. I glanced toward my aunts and cousins and discovered my second big surprise that Christmas Eve: they were all cracking up with laughter in church! Some were bowing their heads to quiet the laughing, while others were leaning against one another to stifle the noise. My mom couldn't contain herself enough to tell me the joke, but I found myself suffering with both a sore face and cramped belly from laughing so hard as the intense hilarity spread among us. I could hardly wait for the mass to end so I could discover what had caused the ruckus.

It turned out that one of my aunts had asked my mom if she would be taking Communion. My mom, not the religious type but who has a “Ya Ya Sisterhood” personality, quickly whispered, “I'm so full I couldn't eat another bite.” These Southern women knew how to live it up, and they also had that inherent ability to liven things up. Being silly came naturally to these gals who greeted the magical holiday season with open amusement and childlike wonder.

It was that year I realized that, even though I had become a more mature adult, I could remain an elated kid all over again at Christmastime. A sample from the upcoming poetry collection.