Christmas In The Orphanage
Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories of love and kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas time. ~Laura Ingalls Wilder
The days leading to Christmas were exciting in the orphanage since the atmosphere was filled with secrets and hope, wondering what kind of gift we would receive. All of us seemed to be on our best behavior, and we got along with each other more than usual since it was on December 6 that Nikolaus came to visit us. This was no small matter since he was one of the most important and majestic figures to come and visit. In some way, he seemed God-like to me and I stood in awe of him. This tradition of Nikolaus Tag (Nicholas Day) came from the 4th century with a man named Bischof Nikolaus from Myra (modern-day Turkey), who especially loved and looked after the children as well as the poor, as he delivered fruit and nuts to their homes.
Our orphanage included not only the six houses the children and social workers lived in, but also a large kitchen with its own staff and a celebration hall. We often performed plays, choir music, and any other kind of festivities. At Advent, we would dress in our finest, and our choir would sing beautiful Christmas songs there. Nikolaus always came to that big hall where all six groups of 15 to 18 children each, were gathered.
Nikolaus looked majestic as he was dressed in beautiful garments and carried with him a long, golden staff. He had a long white beard and carried with him a black book and a golden book. In those two books, he would read the name of each child and a little summary of his or her behavior during the year. The child would walk to the front of the room, and Nikolaus would hand him or her a small bag of fruit and nuts along with some chocolate. It was an exciting time for each child in the room; even the older children enjoyed this time of acknowledgment. Most of the time, Nikolaus would read out of the golden book; only on rare occasions was someone in that black book.
At the ripe age of about seven or eight, I was one of those few children whose name landed in Nikolaus’ black book. I was one of only two people in the black book that year. The other person was a teenage boy from the Buben Haus (Boy House).
Before Nikolaus called my name that fateful day, I somehow knew something was not quite right. I then had this terrible feeling in my stomach as I walked up and approached this huge and mysterious being. As I heard the words being read aloud for everyone to hear, I wanted to hide in a closet, put a blanket over my head, and stay for a while. In those years, I was a tomboy and often protected the little girls from the boys when walking home from school; often I arrived late for lunch with my clothes and hair all tattered because of it. I was more of a challenge to my social workers than I realized until this particular Christmas time. I was humiliated as Nikolaus had me turn my backside to him so he could give me a swift pop on my bottom. The pain I experienced was not my bottom but to my pride. My face was as red as a beet, and as I walked back to my seat, I did not want to look up and see the many eyes looking back at me. My friends felt bad for me, and others chuckled underneath their breath as they secretly were thrilled at my dismay.
I determined in my heart never again to get myself in that kind of predicament, and I changed my ways. The little girls would have to fend for themselves from now on, and I too became a bit more of a young lady.
This was the only time I had a negative encounter with this mysterious Nikolous whom I looked up to and admired so much. I kept Christmas time in the orphanage as a special time in my heart and continue to have fond memories of it to this day.
Sometime before Christmas Day, all the children would walk around the city with candle-lit lanterns we would have made. I loved the dark outside as everyone’s candles were lit and the children sang Christmas songs as we walked together. Many children would be out in the streets, and it was a delightful time. I remember smelling the crisp fresh air and looking up in the sky admiring all the twinkling stars that joined us in this festivity. There was something so beautiful and pure about those moments.
Christmas trees and gifts were a part of our Christmas, too. Our social workers did a lot of work to prepare these while we were at school. Part of our living quarters were sectioned off with a curtain so that a beautiful Christmas tree could be erected with presents under it. No one was allowed to peak behind the curtain to see who was working there, and the mysterious things that were taking place. Around the dinner table each evening in December, one child was allowed to open one advent gift from a advent calendar that was put up. In the middle of our table was a big advent wreath with four candles, and each week a candle would be lit until December 24. Each one of us would make gifts for our social workers and our best friends. We would wrap them in paper that we would stamp with potatoes carved into various shapes and dipped into paint. The designs we would come up with were creative and fun, and each paper was printed with a different design.
We always celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve as each child made him or herself look as beautiful and as handsome as possible. I remember how anxious we were to finish our evening meal and clean up so that the big curtain could be pulled back. Everyone was so excited as we gathered around that curtain. We would sing Christmas songs, and then, finally, the curtain would be pulled back. I would have to fight back tears because our bond of togetherness and love was strong during Christmas as we sang beautiful old songs. I loved looking at the manger as the social workers would read to us the story again of the miracle of Christ’s birth. Candles were lit on the Christmas tree as the room was dimmed. It was a holy moment for all of us.
Each child usually received one or two presents, and each year one child would receive a bigger gift. On one such Christmas, I received a green bicycle. I loved my bicycle, and I was so proud to have received it. I have a photograph in my album of that day; and my pride shows. Such memories will always stay fondly tucked in my heart.
I wish each of my dear readers a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. May it be filled with true meaning and true purpose once again. May Peace always be your guide and may Love always be your portion!
Fröhliche Weinachten!
Portions of this post have been previously published
