My dad became a jw when I was 5, so I don't really remember before that. In my house since my dad was a witness and my mom was not, although we had to go to all the meetings do family study, etc., the choice was, in theory, ours as to whether we believed what we were taught and didn't celebrate or didn't believe and celebrated. In reality mom loved you no matter what you believed and dad's love was withheld if you didn't follow him. Not to mention as a kid 5 meetings a week is pretty good indoctrination. So I didn't celebrate until I was 13 when I told my dad I no longer believed in what the jw's taught (a very traumatic blowup occurred, it was great).
Anywho, that year I celebrated Christmas for the first time I could remember. In my family we do Christmas eve at my dad's parent's house, Christmas day with each other, and Christmas night with my mom's side of the family. So the first step for me was Christmas at my grandparents house where there were my grandparents, 5 aunts, 5 uncles, 18 grandchildren, and a few assorted step-grandchildren. So, quite a big to do.
My grandparents are devout Catholics and once my dad became a witness the relationship was always rocky. I seldom saw either side of my family as a witness, but especially not this one. And, as a witness and from my father, I was always told how judgemental worldly people were and all the other yadda yadda yadda that goes along with it.
I was terrified walking up the steps. Here I had stood all my life up until then saying that Christmas was wrong. And now here I was coming to celebrate. I just knew everyone was going to be secretly, or maybe not so secretly, judging me. I felt like a hypocrite. There was lead in my stomach walking up the stairs to go inside. Surely these people didn't want me intruding on their Christmas after I had refused to participate for so long. Fear and self loathing that I can't begin to put into words was all I felt, it was a really long walk up those stairs.
And then I walked in.
The atmosphere was the polar opposite of the fear I was feeling. It was warm and loving, happy and cheerful. Everyone hugged me and loved me and told me how happy they were I was there. I felt safe and accepted and loved. This was my family and, despite what I'd been taught and told, they loved me and wanted me to be happy no matter what I believed. I had so much fun opening gifts and, even more, watching the younger kids open gifts. And everyone just had fun together and laughed sang Christmas carols and... I don't know... they were a family.
It meant more to me than I can ever express and I wouldn't give up my family for anything.
I have great Christmas memories since then. Those where I've given a special gift, or the first Christmas I had nieces and nephews to spoil, or just sitting down to Christmas breakfast with my mom and my brother... but that first Christmas was the most powerful for me. To feel and see the love that my family was for the first time. That is my greatest Christmas memory.
Merry Christmas, everyone!!!
Jackie
