The Greatest Feast Day of them All

‘And he’s going to have his first Christmas.  I don’t know if I should get him something, or something by proxy for James and Marie, since Adam might be too young.  Well, definitely something for them.  And, actually, definitely something for Adam…’  This mode of speech has taken-up most of the telephone conversation for the past thirty-three minutes.  Suffice it to say, my father is excited to be visiting his young grandson for only the third time since he was born, back in March.

It’s a relatively difficult journey for someone who doesn’t drive, and who lives on an island.  He’s got to get-up early to trot along to the pier; climb the gangplank; sit still for an hour with a bacon roll and a cappuccino – for someone who hates milk, he still has a nineteen fifties affection for cappuccino as the height of coffee sophistication – regaling any passing islanders with bright-eyed excitement of his grandson’s first Christmas; disembark (only ferries use this term) on the mainland to take a train into Glasgow for an hour;  grab a sandwich at the station; catch a train to Leeds; then another to my brother’s gaff.  All-in, it will take most of the day.  And it’s more than worth it.  Christmas is a special time.  And, for a man who adores babies, to have his very own grandchild makes it perhaps one of the best Christmases ever; certainly the best since my brother and I were weans.

I counsel him on whether to wear a ‘jazzy jumper’ or a shirt and tie, (jumpers more practical: warmer, comfortable and, above all, who wears a shirt-and-tie for the benefit of a 9-month old?!)  I nod and audibly affirm his stories of mainland shopping for bright, colourful, and non-plastic eco-friendly baby toys.  Above all, I listen with happiness to how happy he is to be talking like this.  There is no doubt he has stopped everyone in the island shop, or on the street, or in church, the library, at concerts, you name it, for more than a year now, ever since Adam was on the periphery, telling everyone what a wonderful event was about to take place, and how the brightest button in the box was coming along.

He tells tales of when James was Adam’s age, and how he had been more interested in the wrapping and the boxes than in any toys themselves.  He recalls when I came along and our parents devised an in-the-round system of turn-taking for the opening of presents so we always felt our turn was special, and could share in the excitement of each of the others as they opened-up their own particular Christmas surprises.

Though Adam remains too small for adult food, my brother appears to be following the family tradition in providing curry for all.  Babies will eat anything if it’s mushed-up enough. All three generations heartily approve – why subject yourself to dry, bland turkey on a feast day of great celebration?  As a family, they shall feast united.