By Tony Deyal
Many years ago, when I was a little boy, we used to sing and beg as a Christmas gift from the Almighty and, to make sure, added the Tooth Fairy in the mix, “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth, my two front teeth…” Now, at 79, and having spent a lot of time and money over many ears with dentists, I have changed my tune to, “All I have this Christmas is my two fake teeth, my two fake teeth…”
I also have to be very careful with pronunciation. That way I don’t end up with “tit” for “tat”. While this is better than “chat” for “cat”, the worst part is that it will make any old man like me feel young and restless. This then puts me in the coal hole for months.
When I studied and worked in Canada and the US, all we got for Christmas were “two front sleets…” However, that was not as bad as days in the Caribbean with much more than “two months of heat” or three months of sweat instead of sweet.
Actually, it was still better than my early school days in Trinidad where all I got from teachers, regardless of the time, “a hard licks beat” with whips, special paddles and leather straps. On the other hand, at recess or on the way home from school, what caused the lack of front teeth was that all we had, and not just for Christmas, were much more than two front sweets. What was for us the best and brightest, were the streets as we “limed” or hung out. Instead of going to school we went to the cinemas and carried our cigarettes with us.
While those days and times were important, the hearts, souls and expectations were locked into Christmas. We heard from the radio that, “Christmas comes once a year, and when it does it brings good cheer.” Some even said, “chair,” But, they were all secondary to, “Christmas comes but once a year and everybody must have their share!” And we, the young ones, definitely did.
When I was growing up my father, his friends, the neighbours, our relatives and everyone else we knew were into Christmas in a big way. The spirit was definitely not singular. It was more than plural even. It was fun, games, songs, food and drinks. Especially drinks! It was legion. No matter that the spirits were the same ones in which my family and other seekers after spiritual salvation sought solace during the year.
When Christmas came these spirits abounded, multiplied, overflowed even, and in such a gay atmosphere came out of the closets and cupboards and flowed freely. I cannot say “like water” since rural Trinidad, in which I lived at the time, always had (and still has) serious water shortages. The drought, fortunately, only applied to water and did not affect the spirits of the inhabitants. I still have old photographs of Christmas in which our high spirits are captured in Black and White, among others. The malignant spirits were given the treatment they deserved. We beat the Johnny Walker until it became black then blue. The number of spirits we raised were enough to call each Christmas a “séance.”
I went to University in Canada and came home every Christmas supposedly to be with my wife and children. However, that was very late in the night or when they forced me to wake up in the morning. What I had done as a Caribbean man in Canada was to show them that I did not want their liquor. I wanted mine – Vat 19 Rum from Trinidad, Mount Gay from Barbados, and anyone from Jamaica, especially the “Plantation.”
What was funny is that my Trini friends, much more black than white or brown, were into British alcohol liquor and refused to drink anything Caribbean. However, because of our friendship since childhood, they had to buy at least one bottle of Vat 19 for me. A major part of the Christmas were the singers who I hung out with, especially the great Daisy Voisin. She was known as the “Queen of Parang,” a traditional folk music of merrymaking that was not just associated with Christmas but, especially when the liquor was flowing, was Christmas and New Year’s all in one.
My mother was not into alcohol at all. She was into curtains. I saw this in many of the Caribbean countries where I lived and worked. Curtains open and close the festival season, revealing to the world a house that was “put away” (as my family and neighbours used to say). There was the oilcloth “table ‘clort’” and the plastic kitchen curtains full of foreign fruits; the stretchy, springy metal curtain “rods” with the little hooks at the end holding on to bent nails on both sides of the window frame; the linoleum of as many colours as Joseph’s coat; and the smell of boiling ham and baking fruit cake.
The little wooden Christmas tree with its artificial snow on silver paper, dull bulbs saying halo down below, was a prop, mere window dressing. The living room curtains were the piece de resistance. New living room and dining room furniture of shining chrome and plastic backs proved the point that a chair was still a chair even when there was no one sitting there.
But a house was not a home without curtains. Even when Christmas was just around the corner it did not turn the bend until the curtains were up and our mothers stepped back to admire their handiwork. Driven round the bend yourself with having to wait for food and find some nails and pound your fingers, you were merely a bit player who just strutted and fretted, but of no great pith and moment, signifying nothing really. The curtains were stage right, left and centre.
The one thing that was always with me regardless of where I was, what I was drinking or just sipping, what we were singing or just faking, was the humour and jokes. It is the one thing that holds us together, something like cricket in the Caribbean. This is why it is the best that I have saved for last. So, how much does Santa pay for parking? Nothing. It’s on the house, or when we were young, our house. So then, why was Sant always smiling? Because he knows where all the naughty girls are. In our secondary school, this was a biggie.
The brighter boys in our Secondary School had this one. “What do you call a student who is afraid of Santa?” Claustrophobic. And what do you call people like me who grabbed the gifts but didn’t believe in Santa? I was one of them because I always saw what my mother had bought and thought she had hidden, as well as the tissue paper, ribbon and a card. I was, and still am, a rebel without a Claus.
*Tony Deyal was laughing when he was told that Santa’s helpers were Subordinate Clauses and they had to help with Santa’s three gardens- hoe, hoe, hoe!
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