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There is something about this time of year that seems designed to touch the child inside all of us. Despite the varied geographies of our childhood, each heart nurtures one or more special holiday moments of memory. I'm going to let my mind wander backwards through all the adult moments, the grown-up events, to tell you a special holiday story, and to ask you to tell us one, too.
In the memory I am about five years old. It is Christmas Eve and I am with my gathered family celebrating the traditions of a Polish Christmas Eve. My Uncle Joey, after dinner, suggests that we bundle up and go caroling. He has a big, hard-working, green pickup truck. In the back are a few bales of hay. My mom, four of my aunties and I bundle up in big coats, hats and scarves.
I had been wrapped up like a treasure in an assortment of everyone's grownup coats, hats and scarves -- all warm and gigantic and snuggled. I had been reduced to a tiny face emerging from a mountain of clothing, grinning widely. I was perched on a hay bale between my Mother, who wore a great big woolen coat with deep folded cuffs, and my godmother, Zosia, who wore a Persian lamb coat. (It was 1955.) As soon as we got all settled in, with big blankets over our knees, it started to snow, first gently, then in big, thick snowglobs.
My Uncle Joey drove us through dark night into the Polish neighborhoods in town where we sang Kolendy (Polish Christmas carols). In between the neighborhoods we sang American carols. But as soon as we got to a Polish part of town, we let loose with a happy vigor. Several of my aunts were in the Polish choir at church, and my mother had a beautiful voice as well. I looked at this gathering of women around me, their faces backed by falling snow, their breath coming in gusts of foggy song, wisps of their hair caught by star and street light, and I knew in my heart that this must be what angels looked like.
In a few neighborhoods, the people came outside and thanked us, or they waved from the window of their house or apartment. One lady opened her window and yelled "Brava!" and then "Djenkuje" (Thank you!) The world was different in 1955.
When we got home to my great-aunt's house, and my Uncle Joey lifted me out of the truck, I had become covered with snow on the top of the many layers of woolen clothing. He joked with me -- "Where is my niece? I only see this polar bear!" I laughed and laughed, saying "It's me! I'm right here!" as he kept pretending to look. My aunt playfully tossed a snowball at him, and I chimed in saying "Now YOU are the polar bear!"
This polar bear identity for us both remained throughout my Uncle's life. Every card we sent each other through many years was signed, "Polar Bear." My aunt and uncle had no children of their own, so we were all very close.
One day, many years later, when my uncle was dying, I told my mother to tell him "Polar Bear is coming" as I ran for my car and drove the 150 miles to the hospital. When I got there, he was still hanging on to life. "Polar bear is here," I said. He held my hand and we told each other how much we loved each other. The nurse looked at me in shock.."YOU are Polar Bear? He has been saying over and over that Polar Bear was on her way, and we thought he was delusional! He waited for you." A few moments later, with us all holding his hands and surrounding his bed, he passed on.
Every Christmas since then, when I hear the Kolendy, I let myself fall back through time to that wondrous Christmas Eve, when, thanks to my Uncle Joey's special magic, he and I turned forever into Polar Bears.
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