I have stopped writing on the week-ends, sort of a mini vacation and a mind break. But
being Epiphany today… makes me remember this very special date as a child…
¡¡Rafo… levántate… llegaron los Reyes!!... From somewhere in the midst of my dreams I
heard my grandmother’s voice in a call to wake up, for the Three Kings (The Three Wise Men)
had come the night before and had brought the gifts we, as children, lived for
year to year.
In
our cultures, throughout the Latin influenced countries, back then it was not
Santa Claus, Kris Kringle or Father Christmas who brought our gifts, but these
3 dear, oh so dear, camel riding men … No snow bound elks or elves; no sleigh (snow…? what was that?... something we only
new from pictures and post cards)… just three guys riding on camels, making
their way around our world and dropping gifts through the front door or windows
since, for the most part, we had no chimneys either… Come to think of it, the mystery was even
deeper than with Santa… at least he had air travel which, as we all know, is
much faster than three trundling desert “trucks”.
But
those thoughts were no concerns of ours… the only thing I knew every January 7th,
when my grandmother would wake us up was to run to the tree which was usually
placed in the middle of the back living room wall, and look at all the presents that were
piled underneath. I have to add; they were not all mine… my sister was there,
as well as my cousins. Although with this latter group we felt they were
cheating... their aunt, who was educated in the US
This
is a fast waning tradition, at least for the Hispanic community in the US
As
with many of the immigrant societies in our country (or around the world), we will lose most of our
folklore and, as the older generations who actually lived these events and
traditions die off, there will be remembrance celebrations held of some of the more
ingrained ones. The reality is that these will only be a memory lane like road;
in the meantime, the grandchildren and such will be adopting the established
traditions of the new home country. Which, by the way, is the normal evolution
process of our wandering lives.
To
me, Three Kings Day is a memory. I do not really celebrate it nor have my
children, for they were all born in this country. It is a memory of my
grandparent’s home (but then, most of my
childhood memories are through these two wonderful people) and especially of my
grandmother who, until the bitter end, did her best to be cheerful even when
confronted with the harsh and cruel reality of her rapidly crumbling world. She
felt that we, her “children”, should not be held to account for the mistakes
made by a generation that acted on impulse and emotion, rather than thinking
about later repercussions or even making the effort of finding out if what was being
offered as a promise by an incoming government, would be actually delivered.
Our
last celebrated Three Kings Day was on January, 1962. It was, by previous
standards, a much more subdued celebration; part of the family had already left. A morning when many of the presents
we would have liked or for which we had asked in our “letters” (by then we had already outgrown the fantasy
part of the celebration, but it was still a very special gift exchange day)
had been impossible to obtain; the stores were already becoming bare. It was
difficult to get even necessities; much more difficult to be able to get wants.
In a country where all had been available before, we were already beginning to
face the harshness of the realities to come.
So
Three Kings Day, as many other childhood especial dates are, is a memory. A
beautiful memory to be sure, but a memory nonetheless. It is right up there
with rice and beans with “ropavieja”, with club mornings in the pool… with a liquor factory where much time was spent... with a
school where I grew up along with a group of friends who would each later
meander around trying to find their collective and individual ways in the
world. A memory book which I have shared with you along the way; something in writing that will stay on for my own children and also perhaps to, a
little selfishly, help me in remembering these times of joy and of loss;
times and cemented memories which have served as an anchor for me, an anchor
that has kept me bound to life, sanity and reality through many difficult moments along
later roads.
Make
your memories; if you, as I did, come from a different culture, remember those
times and the environment that fostered them. Remember, for they are your own
anchor to a later life. If you can, pass these memories to your children as
snapshots of their ancestral culture… This is the continuum of life; a
continuum which will keep some of these past happenings alive in younger
generations and which will also keep your own presence alive after you have
gone on, through the memories you have fostered.
Be
Well … Be Back!!!
Final Notes:
- Pray for those who are fighting an illness which
may take them away from their loved ones… Every request is heard, and
counts!!
- Follow us on Twitter … @RJAsPandora
- Any comments please send to otherboxp@yahoo.com
- Remember: We are “On Air” every Sunday night at
6:30pm EST (GT –5hrs). http://www.blogtalkradio.com/theotherbox If the link does not work, please just copy and paste
to your address bar.
- “La
Otra Caja de Pandora”… The
Spanish language Blog… “otracaja.blogspot.com”
… Bienvenidos!!!
No comments:
Post a Comment