The Christmas of 1997 was the first one we spent away from home. I had gone to work as drama critic of the Daily News in New York. My wife took a year’s leave of absence from her teaching job and our two boys, then aged seven and 11, came with us.
I recently found the letters that the seven-year-old’s classmates in Dublin wrote to him for Christmas and new year. They map what the world feels like when you’re seven. And what it feels like is being inside a washing machine, everything, good and bad, tumbling and tangling together.
“Did you have a good Christmas?”, writes one boy. “I hope you did. I had the best Christmas I ever had in my life. I had an ok new year. I have loads of good toys. My Dad’s shop burned down. It went on fire. The wall fell down and the windows bashed. It was a mess. We learned how to do joined ritting (sic). I got a roynd (sic) ear ring. My dad is not happy about his shop. Ps My dad had to sleep in his shop so a robber doesn’t come in and rob stuf. Cathal felt sick today is getting sick now at 11.16am Cathal is much better now. Its all over now. I MISS YOU.”
Another boy wonders whether his friend will ever come back from New York: “I got a bike from Santa. It is a very nice bike. Santa is not greedy. I hope Santa came to the right place for you. I went to DCU Christmas camp. It was great. We did keep a place for you. I am still your best friend in the class. But New York is better and nicer. USA is the best place in the world. I saw Spice World. It is not very good. I hope you come back soon. You do not want to come back soon from a good place like New York.”
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History is happening. The biggest news in nearly all the letters is that “we got a computer for the classroom”, followed soon after by “our class is on the internet”. One boy gives his email address. One girl says she has got a mobile phone.
Calamities are taken in their stride: “We went to Tipperary. It was good. When we were in Tipp our car got stuck in a gully and three men took it out. Then on Christmas Eve a tree fell down, blocked the rode. We could not get past, then we went home another way. The power got cut and the first Sunday in the new year we got loads of snow. We made a sleigh and went down a big hill. We got stuck in our driveway. Our cousins dog had pups.”
On the other hand, mundane events loom large: “I went to the park with Mammy and the dog for a walk, the dog jumped into the water. When he came out he jumped on Mammy and dirtied her dress. She had to get it washed. She was annoyed but we had a party later with nuts and brack. I got the ring so I will have to get married.”
Bad things happen to adults: ‘My uncle is very sick. He has some sort of virus. I went to see him in hospital.’ Or: ‘My grandad is dead. I am going to tennis today. What did you get for Christmas’
The fantastical and the mundane run into each other: “The Black Cauldron,” writes one girl, “is about a boy with a magic pig. Daddy and I are reading The Little Princess. Jim’s nail fell off in the yard.” Or, as a boy reports, “one of my Mam’s best plants fell down because of the storms. My brother Colin got a game for his playstation from Santa. I can hardly stop making more and more models from K’nex. And Colin, well soon he’s going to be a zombi.”
All events have equal importance: “My guinea pig escaped. We learned a new song called La Cucaracha. Mary McAleese is the new president. And when Jenny and Nora were cleaning the mop fell in the loo and Evelyn had to get it.”
Friends fall out and make up: “Hannah got a teddy exactly like my teddy. She liked it a lot. We had a fight once but we got back together.” Trades are done in the yard: “I got a cool deal from Cathal. He is giving away all his Warhammer for 50p or 40p or 20p.” Intimate adventures begin: “I kissed my girlfriend. I trained a dog. His name is Rex.”
Cultures collide: “I got a trophy for Irish dancing. I saw Andy Warhol. It was great and fun.” Strange things are happening offstage: “my Dad is working on the back of his hovercraft”. Surreal images are conjured: “here is a Story from my Imagination. I met a man with the police. He had an onion face. Every time he took his hat off all the Policemen all cried.”
Bad things happen to adults: “My uncle is very sick. He has some sort of virus. I went to see him in hospital.” Or: “My grandad is dead. I am going to tennis today. What did you get for Christmas. Are the toilets clean. How many times have you had pepperoni pizza.” Or: “I have new baby hamsters. We had bangers at Hallowe’en. The Gardaí gave out to some boys. My Nanna is sick. My grandad was dead two years.”
And new life is coming. A girl writes of how her mother has promised a mysterious surprise for Christmas. She has to go and stay in her Granny and Grandad’s house. She asks if “Mum and Dad can come too”. “‘No’ said Mum, ‘I have something very important to do’.” The girl goes to her grandparents’ house. “Later on”, she writes, “me and Grandad made a snowman and snowballs. Soon it was time to go to bed. I had a hot cup of cocoa and went to bed. The next day Gran and Grandad brought me to the hospital, they said a big surprise was waiting for me.” And there, like shepherds on a cold morning, they find the new baby for Christmas.