AND THE MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS

‘And so it’s the time of the year,
of goodwill and cheer,
Jingle bells and Christmas trees,
The magic and the splendor,
That’s the Christmas Season.’

‘Shall I play for you, pa rum pum pum pum
On my drum?’
Beautiful songs of Christmas, sparkling coloured lights, and festive decorations—a wondrous spectacle that’s simply magical during the Christmas season.
Aaron stood in front of the Courts shopping plaza on Main Street and stared admiringly at the spectacular lights adorning that section of the road. He was not a young boy anymore, but even as the young adult he was now, the festivities of Christmas still enthralled him.

He breathed in the fresh, warm air, a luxury for him. There was no snow and cold, just the warmth of this tropical country where there is always music, laughter, and food with a Caribbean flavour.
“It’s so good to be home,” he said, more to himself than to the many people walking around. Some answered cheerfully, “It sure is.”
He laughed, a feeling of joy in his heart, as he greeted strangers, sang a few lines of Christmas carols with a group nearby, and then went back to his hotel.
Tomorrow, he would visit his boyhood home on the East Coast.

“It’s been a long time since I was home,” he mused as the taxi drove along the embankment road the next day, passing the breathtakingly beautiful pink and white lilies in the waterways bordering the road.

He remembered the sweet water nuts he used to eat as a little boy when the older boys in the neighbourhood took him fishing there.
“Fun days those were,” he said to himself.
As the car neared his destination in Cummings Lodge, he said to the driver, “Stop by the house with the huge genip tree.”

Aaron stepped out of the car, his heart rejoicing—for he was home after sixteen long years. But the scene that greeted his eyes dampened his enthusiasm. He stared at the empty land. The house wasn’t there, just a pile of old wooden material and some rusted zinc. The genip tree that had grown old was leaning on the fence, holding onto life, and his grandmother’s prized fruit trees—the sorrel, carambola, and cherries that had once provided tasty local drinks—were now dying from neglect.
“Where did my grandmother’s house go?” he asked quietly, trying to keep a calm mind.

It had been his home since he was a toddler until he turned seven when his mother came and took him away. He had never forgotten his grandmother’s tears that day or the last words she had said with a quivering voice:
“God’s blessings be with you, my angel boy, until I see you again.”
He had cried all the way to the airport and remained sad for months in his new home in America. He missed his grandmother, her loving care, kind voice, and cosy, freshly scented home. But his mother would not send him back. As the years passed, one after another, he made a promise to himself that when he came of age and earned enough money, he would return home.
Today was that day, four days before Christmas. But there was no house and no one there. He shook his head in deep despair.

“Dear God,” he exclaimed silently, “what happened here? I waited so long for this day.”
He pushed open the old gate that was hanging on one hinge and stood in the middle of the yard, looking around, an ache in his heart. He was afraid to ask what had happened.
He sighed deeply, knowing he had to face the truth. After a long while, he turned to inquire from the neighbours about his grandmother. Then someone called out to him.

“Young man.”
He turned and saw an old lady standing at the gate, looking at him curiously.
“Are you looking for someone?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m looking for my grandmother.”

The old lady looked at him for a long moment, perhaps reflecting on something because of his foreign accent. Then she gasped, “Sweet Jesus, it’s little Aaron!”
She clapped her hands gleefully and announced loudly, “It’s Aaron!”
He remembered her then—one of Grandma’s close friends. As other neighbours came out to greet him, expressing amazement at how much he had grown, Aaron felt a small spark of happiness rising in his heart. But it was short-lived, for they had a sad story to tell him.

His grandmother had grieved for him so much that she had fallen ill. With the help of caring neighbours and prayers, she recovered and continued her little food business outside the yard, shaded by the genip tree. But as she grew older, she became weaker. Family members who visited her occasionally always wanted something and kept taking from her. She eventually became so ill that she had to be taken to a home for the elderly because no family stepped up to care for her.

The house started to deteriorate. One night, after heavy rains and high winds, it collapsed.
Bitter tears rolled down Aaron’s face at the story of her suffering—leaving the only thing of value, she had, her house and his boyhood home, which held so many precious memories.
“This is so bad,” he said, a fiery determination in his eyes to make things right. Though his heart ached, he felt a deep sense of relief that she was still alive.
“I am coming to get you, Grandma,” he said.