Too many people see Christmas as a season of nothing but unbridaled consumerism, of wants and must-haves, and as a salve for what bothers us. They forget what the real meaning of Christmas is about. To me, the real meaning of Christmas is about celebrating families in all shapes and forms, and realizing that the gifts are not under the tree, but in what each family member brings to us.
As I've gotten older, I've realized this to be true. I would rather exchange all the latest gifts just for a single moment back with my great-grandmother, Mane. She was wonderful, and I miss her terribly. She saw and experienced so much living on the border here in South Texas. Mane lived a very long life---she was ninety-one years old when she passed away from cancer. I wonder what she would think of us all right now, and of what is happening right now in the world.
Mane very rarely interjected her own opinions into the family discussions. Instead, she'd sit there at the family table and take in the conversation, letting her daughter, my grandmother, spin and weave stories and discussions all around us. I miss seeing her there at the family table, and coming home has never been the same without her right there to welcome me into a big hug.
My great-grandmother had such a big influence on me. She taught me the importance of family, and being there for whenever we needed her for support. She loved to come and visit us wherever we were, and she'd stay for weeks at a time. I loved playing Scrabble with her, even though she'd take longer to put a word down the older she got. She still could outscore us, and one time when I'd played Scrabble with her, my mother, and cousins, she let me put down a bad word. I was nine years old, I think, at the time and put the word "shit" down. My mother was horrified and my cousins hid their laughter behind their hands. My mom wanted me to take the word off the board, and I was about to relent when Mane insisted that it stay there. "It's not a word! It's a curse word!" Mom said. Mane shook her head and said, "It's a word, and it stays there."
"Okay, okay." Mom sighed. "Mijita!" She exclaimed, looking at me rather pointedly.
Mane wrote down the points. Then she winked at me.
Playing Scrabble with Mane was all about spending time with her, and I enjoyed those moments so much. It was a sense of camaraderie, fun, and much trash-talking about winning and losing among the women in my family. Men wisely stayed out of our games. They couldn't take our wit and our triumph in winning over them.
Anytime I play Scrabble, I think about Mane, and the infinite patience she had with me. She would laugh, put me in a big hug, and tell me how much she loved me.
That is what I am thankful for this holiday season. Having known and loving Mane for as long as I did. Not that many people get to know and experience their great-grandmothers. I did, and I am richer for it.