Jennifer Carroll is a 21 year old actor and writer. She first began writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos in 2007 when she had the opportunity to share her experiences as a Canadian ambassador for an international conference for women in Dubai. At the beginning of 2008, she moved to Ireland to pursue a career in theatre and film. Far From Home is her monthly account on living and working in Dublin.
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Chritsmas Comes But Once A Year
I love Christmas. I mean it. I really adore it.
Now, I know that we are well into New Year’s Resolution territory, and that we are now months - no, seasons - away from the next Christmas to come. However, stay with me. I love Christmas. I love the festivity, the good cheer, but most of all I love the steady promise of tradition. My family upholds countless traditions over the holidays that, to this day, the lack thereof leaves a haunting feeling of vacancy in my gut. So with the delicate possibility of Davi and I visiting Canada and my family for Christmas this past year, my heart swelled with the knowledge that Davi would finally experience The Carroll Family Christmas Extravaganza.
A footnote: Davi and I have been together for four years. Bureaucracy, immigration policies and stringent application processes have meant that for four years we have celebrated the holidays in Dublin. Davi has survived on hand-me-down stories of Christmas. Stories set in picturesque Uxbridge, a small Canadian town blanketed in fluffy snow, laced in twinkling lights. Stories recounting the dozens of boxes containing Christmas decorations unfailingly marched out from storage and unpacked gently weeks before Christmas Day. Stories conjuring the smell of pine needles, roaring fires, roasting turkey and mouthwatering baking. Stories reminiscing of the childhood joy of waking, plump stockings at the foot of our beds, in the wee hours while Mum and Dad still slept - a tradition started to celebrate my mother's British heritage, when Saint Nick would leave gifts for all the good boys and girls at the foot of their beds. Stories detailing the delicious pageantry of Christmas breakfast being cooked after all the gifts had been given and received. Davi only knew of these beautiful traditions second-hand. And we thought he might finally be able to experience the Carroll household for himself this Christmas season. I was dizzy with anticipation over the mere chance.
Imagine my devastation when the visa arrived 24 hours too late to make it home for Christmas Day. My heart fell to the depths of my defeated soul when I realized we would once again miss out on my favourite time of year. It seemed almost pointless to go at all, because if we couldn't be there for the big day, why bother? We skipped over the Atlantic in time for the New Year, but there was no Carroll magic on New Year's. There were no traditions, no stories, no twinkling childhood memories that could give Davi a taste and understanding of my perfect childhood. My anticipation and excitement couldn't help but dilute themselves.
But then as we landed in Pearson, I realized something: I was bringing Davi home. Home to a place I cherish, and that he had never seen. As my parents greeted us outside the arrivals gate and Toronto peeked out at me through the windows beyond them, my heart soared with delight. For the first time he could smell what Canada smelled like. He could taste what Canadian air tasted like. For the first time he could see the gentle snow that enrobed the fields. For the first time he could drive through the beautiful town that raised me and walk into the house that I grew up in. For the first time he could meet my brothers, three of my best friends. For the first time he could know what the word 'home' meant to me.
And it struck me: tradition is far less about what you do than whom you do it with. As we barged into the new year and January plodded on, as the house filled throughout our visit with so many people I loved, as Davi spent the weeks discovering everything I valued about Canada, as we built fires and went ice skating and cooked and laughed and reminisced over cups of tea, I'll tell you something: it felt like Christmas.
