A friend of mine, John Austin wrote a song about the day after Christmas and it’s pretty good. It paints a picture of the strewn detritus that is pretty inevitable after the typical family Christmas. It would work as a pretty good “morning after” song in general, and he just picked December 26th as the biggest let-down day of them all. It’s a hopeful song, though, and like a lot of John’s songs points to hope in tragedy.
My parents countered that inevitable post-holiday letdown in their own way. They were married on Boxing Day in England. In all fairness, Boxing day is really still a pretty big deal in the UK. It’s the day after Christmas when people still give gifts and everything is still closed. This, of course, made it hard to find things like florists and caterers, but all the same, there they were.
My Dad is a small-town methodist, and my Mom was as Catholic as they come. They were married in England after a really quick courtship. I’m not sure my Dad’s family even made the trip from upstate New York. I know my Mom’s Catholic great-aunt almost boycotted the wedding because they would be serving communion to a protestant. But there they were, married nonetheless.
So they added some joy to the day after Christmas that wasn’t there before. For our family, the time between Thanksgiving and New Year’s is one event after another. I, my sister, and my grandmother all have December birthdays. We celebrate our parents’ anniversary, and, oh yeah, there’s Christmas.
December was stressful growing up. There was a lot to remember, and we always seemed to have lots to do and gifts to buy. Looking back, though, I think my parents made the right call – picking the 26th for their wedding. For them, the day after Christmas is not just changing batteries, cleaning the mess, and eating leftovers. It is a dinner out, sweet gifts, and a memory of a wedding that happened 41 years ago, across an ocean, in a small chapel, on a day when everything else was closed.
So Merry Day After Christmas to you all. And happy anniversary, Mom and Dad.