Adios, Señor Grinch; hello, Yuletide engineer

By Ma. Eugenia Guerra

I was recalling how strident one can be about one's beliefs about child rearing, how love and the sometimes daunting responsibility for a new life dictates one's embrace for an all natural, no preservatives diet for the child, the decision to dress that child only in natural fiber clothing and never in pajamas that have the words poly-algo or “flame retardant” on them.

As a youngster dressed in all-cotton clothing, my son was nurtured on raw milk, kefir, yogurt, and whole grains. That's how we built him, and I'm happy he and Rosita are doing the same for my granddaughter Emily.

Did I say strident? I guess I mean idealistic, or some of each. A few months ago as we planned our first Christmas with Emily, I listened to my son talk about how he didn't want his daughter to grow up thinking the holiday was just about gifts, that he wanted her to understand it had a far greater meaning than the crass commercial merchandising of plastic toys, goodwill, and peace on earth, and that regarding Emily the Santa Claus myth might be something he wanted to skip.

I told him that it was never good to be the child who told all the others that there was no Santa Claus. And I reminded him how much he had enjoyed Santa as a child -- all those trains and boats and planes, Legos, chaps and hats -- but he held firm with what seemed to be unwavering resolve that Christmas would remain a low-key celebration. That is, until we brought the Christmas tree upstairs.

Adios, Señor Grinch. Hello, Yuletide engineer. Did anybody else get to string lights on the tree? No, the man of the house knew how best and chose the lighting color schemes while the wimmin fixed supper and played with Emily.

When the decorating was all done, and the stockings were hung, and we'd had our official tree lighting supper, we stood back to take in the tree that filled the old high-ceilinged room with a sweet glow and the warmth of Christmas cheer.