
(The grandchildren in this photo are now in middle school and high school.)
For many of us, Christmas is a wonderful time of year. For the Gerencser family, our two granddaughters who are away at college come home, Nana bakes cookies, makes fudge, and all sorts of delicious things sure to fatten your waistline, presents are bought for sixteen grandchildren, all in preparation for Christmas at our home. Dinner will be prepared — this year, we are eating Italian — and at the appointed time, everyone will gather in our home — twenty-six people, in all — to eat and open presents. Complaints will be heard from our children, saying our house is too small for such a large gathering, and Grandpa will say, as he has for years, “As long as we are alive, we are having Christmas here. End of discussion.”
Our home will be filled with jokes and laughter from aunts and uncles, fueled by wine and beer, as our grandchildren impatiently wait for Uncle Josiah to give them a present. “One at a time,” he sternly tells them, as he searches for a gift for each child. Our out-of-high-school grandchildren will receive cash, and those nine through eighteen will open gifts they picked out for themselves when they went shopping with Nana. Except for Levi, our oldest grandson — his gift falls to me. Those Nana takes shopping are all girls. Grandpa wisely stays away from all that estrogen. For the younger grandchildren, we buy them gifts off submitted lists, usually from Amazon or other online retailers. Typically, our children will give Polly and me gifts. Usually, we receive gift cards to restaurants, though one year we received four tires for our automobile. Thanks are exchanged, hugs are given, tissue paper and bags recovered to use for the umpteenth Christmas, and just like that, our family Christmas is over.
For the Gerencsers, Christmas is all about family. But that wasn’t always the case. In the 1980s, I decided that Christmas was a pagan holiday. So, we stopped celebrating Christmas. No tree, no decorations, no gifts. I determined — note the singular pronoun, Polly never agreed with me on Christmas, but as the patriarch of the family, my word was law — that we would spend Christmas day serving the poor, hungry, and homeless. A worthy ambition to be sure, but we could have done both if my extreme religious views hadn’t gotten in the way.
Eventually, I saw the error of my way, and, over time, Christmas returned to our home. I determined we could keep Christ in Christmas while humbly participating in American consumerism. These days, our family Christmas celebration is mostly secular, though Christmas hymns can be heard playing in the background. While the Gerencsers are a thoroughly secularized family, some of our children will attend religious services. We are not hostile towards religion. Each to their own is the motto we all live by. Gone are the days when Polly’s Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) parents tried to cajole us into attending a Christmas Eve service at their church. (Both of Polly’s parents are dead.) I still remember shortly after we deconverted Mom pushing us to go to church with her — a forty-five-minute service not even church members wanted to attend. We declined. Instead, we went to midnight mass with our Catholic son and daughter-in-law. Boy, was Mom upset with us. We wouldn’t to church with her, but we went to a cult instead. The mass, by the way, was a wonderful experience. We no longer believed the Christmas message, but the music, ceremony, and homily were inspirational, even to two unbelievers.
These days, Polly and I have concluded that Christmas is whatever you want it to be. For us, Jesus isn’t the reason for the season; family, food, and good times are what make our Christmas’s so wonderful.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
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