Remembering How The Animals Spoke Inspires The Christmas Spirit

The decorations on the Christmas tree bring back good memories.

When I was a kid, I saw a Christmas show that I will never forget. It was published on December 21, 1951 (thanks, Google), which means that when I sat between my mother and father and learned that every Christmas Eve, for a few hours around the world, gifts were being given to animals. .

They talk like people talk. You use words. They tell stories. And they are joking.

I remember Mama was a popular series that I watched every Friday night on a black and white TV on a small screen that flickered regularly, making the picture difficult to see. But the sound was still great, and that Friday night in 1951 on the Christmas special, The Night the Animals Talk, I heard those animals. Cows, horses, goats, sheep - their moooooos, neighbors and hips attracted them all at the same time!

Was there even a dog? In my memory there was a dog like me, Pal, who talked and laughed and sang "Silent Night" with all the animals.

It was a TV thing, I know. Maybe it's a trick of my imagination. But my parents said it was a Christmas miracle.

And I believed him.

As a kid, I believed in some crazy things. I thought I had a fairy godmother to dress me up as Bippity Boppity if I had to go to prom. I believed in the magic of the four-leaf clover and spent countless summer afternoons combing the grassy fields. I believed in a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I once chased a rainbow in a forest that was forbidden to me. I fell in the mud and lost my shoes. Next time I'm chasing rainbows, I'll wear lace.

I also believed in Neverland, perhaps especially in Neverland, because every night of my childhood - even in winter - I slept with my bedroom window open, knowing that one day Peter Pan would be came to get me.

Not to mention I love the Christmas cows, sheep and big donkey who live in my cellar where my mother makes her Christmas bed. I know animals don't talk.

But they said goodbye.

I've said out loud to anyone who will listen that I intend to play minimalistic this Christmas. I wanted to unwrap some Santas and decorate a little tree and name it today. Don't regret pulling a dozen or more boxes out of your basement to move everything around for a few weeks.

This was the plan I had announced.

But then I looked at the box that said Reindeer, and even though no one was yelling, "Get me out of here!" "They're in the front closet." “I live by the fireplace! Everyone has a story. My cousin Darlene made a porcelain reindeer and how do you spend Christmas in a box? For 20 years it has sat in the hall closet, lit so that every time I think of my cousin Darlene I see her, the cousin I wish was my little sister.

A year before my father died, he built a small wooden deer in his cabin. And my nephew's friend gave us a bigger wooden deer last year. I also have a little deer that my nephew and I bought at the old Quincy Square Flea Market when he was little.

So I climbed the ladder with this box.

The same thing happened with cows. My friend Ann Jackson gives me a cow every year. There must be a reason why it started, but none of us can remember it.

Then came the snowmen (sleigh snowman, angel puppets, stuffed snowmen, fluff stuffers), each a gift, each a treasure.

Then finally Santa Claus. - You bought me in Iceland. "I'm from Marshall, Boxing Day, half price." "Anne King gave me the Christmas you'd expect from Grandma." "You were your father's present, but you couldn't do it. None of the Christmas creatures said that. Of course not. Cows, snowmen or Santa Claus.

But I heard it.

Maybe it's the miracle of Christmas that the heart not only remembers, but speaks. And we listen. And we don't get caught up in the hustle and bustle of the season. It is a kind of peace mixed with joy, love and gratitude. when and who was it. which is AND for all past and future birthdays.

Beverly Beckham's bi-weekly column. She can be reached at bev@beverlybeckham.com .