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December 2, 2001: Vibbert's Story of a Christmas in the Islands
I've been disenchanted with Christmas for a few years. Just seems like there's nothing in it, once you're not a kid anymore. I'm not a Christian; I couldn't care less about Jesus Christ. I don't particularly like my family, so I don't get that glad-to-be-home feeling. And once you don't get to rip open shiny boxes, what the hell is the point?
Jennifer Yates was a Christmas girl. When we were 14, she'd always put little post-scripts at the end of the notes she wrote me. 164 days till Christmas!!!!!!! She had a great family. She was Catholic. She lived the American Dream, the tacky kind of exact monetary planning of what a person could get for gifts, knowing the exact amount each relative would spend, and exactly what could be obtained for that amount. And to her, that was lovely. That was Christmas.
But what was it for me? What is it for me? Just another day. I spent the last 2 Christmases alone, with the family up in VA.
So I gave Vibbert Daniels a ride down to the nondescript building where his van was being fixed (a building with one of those catch-all kind of names that could mean anything from furniture rental to Volvo mechanic) and on the way back, he told me about Christmas in Grenada, where he's from.
His accent (which is similar to the Jamaican accent that my father has, only much thicker and much more indecipherable) made the storytelling a little harder to understand, but gave it more weight, more depth than any easily-forgotten American tale of what-I-did-over-winter-break.
In the islands, he said, you know it's Christmas when you start seeing the eggs. Dyed eggs, like Easter, I gathered. People would take the eggs directly from the fowl they kept in their yard and dye some up to display for Christmas.
In the islands, you start cooking lots and lots of food 9 days before Christmas, because everyone comes from door to door. A few drinks, some good island food (some curried goat or jerk chicken maybe. Dumplings with fried bananas and meat patty) and some good conversation, and then it's off to the next house.
Boy I tell you, he said, that's Christmas. You go out all day every day all night every night to the fetes, to the clubs and everybody dances. In the streets there’s people playing steel drums and guitars. You throw them a dollar all in good spirit as you head on to whatever's next.
It's hot, too, it's always hot, but who cares when you got an ocean right there? And you get so drunk your friends have to carry you home, drop you at the door, and then off to the next house, to the next bit of Christmas. And on this day, Jesus was born.
You got to get the roots, he said, if you're going down dere.
And that sounds more like Christmas than anything I ever heard of. That sounds like where I want, no, where I need to be. So I made a pledge right there in the car. Next Christmas I spend in Jamaica.
I'm getting my roots and I'm packing my bags, and no matter what it takes, I'm going down dere.
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Merry Christmas... [img]/forums/images/graemlins/bannana_purple.gif[/img] [img]/forums/images/graemlins/bannana_purple.gif[/img] [img]/forums/images/graemlins/bannana_purple.gif[/img] [img]/forums/images/graemlins/bannana_purple.gif[/img] [img]/forums/images/graemlins/bannana_purple.gif[/img] [img]/forums/images/graemlins/bannana_purple.gif[/img] [img]/forums/images/graemlins/bannana_purple.gif[/img]
December 2, 2001: Vibbert's Story of a Christmas in the Islands
I've been disenchanted with Christmas for a few years. Just seems like there's nothing in it, once you're not a kid anymore. I'm not a Christian; I couldn't care less about Jesus Christ. I don't particularly like my family, so I don't get that glad-to-be-home feeling. And once you don't get to rip open shiny boxes, what the hell is the point?
Jennifer Yates was a Christmas girl. When we were 14, she'd always put little post-scripts at the end of the notes she wrote me. 164 days till Christmas!!!!!!! She had a great family. She was Catholic. She lived the American Dream, the tacky kind of exact monetary planning of what a person could get for gifts, knowing the exact amount each relative would spend, and exactly what could be obtained for that amount. And to her, that was lovely. That was Christmas.
But what was it for me? What is it for me? Just another day. I spent the last 2 Christmases alone, with the family up in VA.
So I gave Vibbert Daniels a ride down to the nondescript building where his van was being fixed (a building with one of those catch-all kind of names that could mean anything from furniture rental to Volvo mechanic) and on the way back, he told me about Christmas in Grenada, where he's from.
His accent (which is similar to the Jamaican accent that my father has, only much thicker and much more indecipherable) made the storytelling a little harder to understand, but gave it more weight, more depth than any easily-forgotten American tale of what-I-did-over-winter-break.
In the islands, he said, you know it's Christmas when you start seeing the eggs. Dyed eggs, like Easter, I gathered. People would take the eggs directly from the fowl they kept in their yard and dye some up to display for Christmas.
In the islands, you start cooking lots and lots of food 9 days before Christmas, because everyone comes from door to door. A few drinks, some good island food (some curried goat or jerk chicken maybe. Dumplings with fried bananas and meat patty) and some good conversation, and then it's off to the next house.
Boy I tell you, he said, that's Christmas. You go out all day every day all night every night to the fetes, to the clubs and everybody dances. In the streets there’s people playing steel drums and guitars. You throw them a dollar all in good spirit as you head on to whatever's next.
It's hot, too, it's always hot, but who cares when you got an ocean right there? And you get so drunk your friends have to carry you home, drop you at the door, and then off to the next house, to the next bit of Christmas. And on this day, Jesus was born.
You got to get the roots, he said, if you're going down dere.
And that sounds more like Christmas than anything I ever heard of. That sounds like where I want, no, where I need to be. So I made a pledge right there in the car. Next Christmas I spend in Jamaica.
I'm getting my roots and I'm packing my bags, and no matter what it takes, I'm going down dere.
[/ QUOTE ]
Merry Christmas... [img]/forums/images/graemlins/bannana_purple.gif[/img] [img]/forums/images/graemlins/bannana_purple.gif[/img] [img]/forums/images/graemlins/bannana_purple.gif[/img] [img]/forums/images/graemlins/bannana_purple.gif[/img] [img]/forums/images/graemlins/bannana_purple.gif[/img] [img]/forums/images/graemlins/bannana_purple.gif[/img] [img]/forums/images/graemlins/bannana_purple.gif[/img]
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