The last post I wrote before my long sabbatical from the blog focused on some discoveries I was making at the time about my time at boarding school in New York City. At that time, my discoveries were more about the pain I felt being away from home for the four years I was at school there. Funny thing about stories: when treated right, when reframed (with help) in a larger context that I only could have built over the next few years, they tend to be able to age like fine wine. As it stands (and there are other contextual pieces that I won't get into in this post), I now have fonder memories of my time in New York than I do of high school, and even of my years in Minnesota. It doesn't necessarily mean that my time in New York was better than my time in Minnesota (if anything, I still kind of hold the opposite!), but, time can heal memories when those memories are propped up with the proper scaffolding for repair and maintenance.
I'm sure that when I was 11, 12, 13, and 14 years of age, more than anything I wanted was to be home for Christmas. I don't recall what my thoughts were when I realized that we school kids were going to have to stay at school until 1pm Christmas Day. Because our primary job was being boy sopranos in a church choir (with adult men singing the alto (or countertenor), tenor, and bass parts), singing the services on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day (the morning, anyway) was part of the program.
That said, reflecting back, I now look back on it with fondness. The entire month of December was chock full of excellent music that we got to partake in: George Friderich Handel's Messiah, Benjamin Britten's Ceremony of Carols, Marc-Antoine Charpentier's Mass (I forget which one now) for Christmas Eve, and more. I say all this now, given that this year one of the biggest pieces of Christmas that I'm connecting with more than ever is the music (like I mentioned in my last post).
But there were other things. Two or three days before Christmas, our headmaster (may he rest in peace) would dress up as "Santa GR-A" and give everyone presents as we gathered by the big tree in the dormitory section of the school. On Christmas Eve, he would lead us down Fifth Avenue to the church (not our normal route; also, it was a seven-block walk between the school and the church). It was quite a sight, given that Fifth Avenue was where all the shops were; unlike most other streets in the area, on this one every tree and light and store window was decked out with Christmas lights and other Christmas decorations. And each year we students participated in a "Secret Santa" event where we would have a day set aside to shop for whichever classmate we each were designated to get a gift for, usually about two weeks before Christmas. Everyone would then open their presents -- from their "Secret Santa" and from "Santa GR-A" -- two or three days before Christmas, whenever he was scheduled to appear.
Plus, it was Christmas in New York City. I neglected to mention that both our school and our church were in midtown Manhattan -- the part of the city that I imagine most non-New Yorkers think of when they think of New York: the shops on Fifth Avenue, the big tree at Rockefeller Center, and the famous ice skating rinks at both the Rockefeller Center and Central Park. There have been numerous Christmas-themed films that have been set in Manhattan. I can definitively say, based on having experienced the entire Christmas season there for four years, that the magic that the movies were portraying wasn't hyperbole.
Even though it wasn't "home," the school did its part, and then some, to make magic for us choirboys whose call was to make magic for countless others throughout the school year. It was magical, indeed. I'm grateful for it, and at this point chuckle at how I am now back to a version of that life, performing music all month long, all the way up through Christmas Eve. Even though my rejection of the "Santa" propaganda is to a deeper level than ever before, it seems some of the magic yet remains. On this day, I'll chalk it up to the enduring power of Jesus Messiah. I'll receive that.
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