An Orange For Christmas

First published in December 2022.

Have you ever been given an orange for Christmas?

Getting an orange wrapped under the tree has been a longstanding joke within my family, and I’ll tell you why.

My late grandfather Neil MacPhail (Poppy to us) was a legend and unintentionally taught us many lessons. He loved us, but he loved teasing us even more. In fact, I think his favourite thing to do was tease us about whatever first came to his mind. It often included exaggerating his childhood and how hard they had it growing up in a two-bedroom house in Argyle Shore with seventeen children.

Christmas was no different. Each Christmas day, all his grandchildren, great-nieces, and nephews would come to his house for brunch, carrying whatever gifts Santa had brought us earlier that morning.

“Spoiled brats,” he would say. “If I were lucky, I used to get a new pair of rubber boots and an orange for Christmas.” And usually a “kick in the arse” as an added bonus.

We assumed early on that he was joking, but he was serious. Christmas in the 1940s wasn’t as full of video games or name-brand clothing as we had initially thought.

The bare necessities: a pair of boots to walk “through snow and uphill both ways” to school and a ripened orange to give you the energy to do it. As children, the idea of getting an orange for Christmas left us spiralling in laughter.

What I began to realize as I grew older was an unintended lesson from Poppy. One about the true meaning of Christmas. Without getting philosophical, these times spent together and joking around were far more valuable than whatever gift was under the tree. This lesson rings even more true since it’s our first (second in 2023) Christmas without him.

For twenty-three straight years, my Christmas morning was spent at the same place - my grandparents’ house for brunch with my immediate and extended family. The look on his face was pure joy when we came bustling through the door with smiles on our faces that only five-year-olds with a new toy can have. Or, in my teenage years, offering a dry-humoured comment upon noticing the look of hangover on my face after a late night of rum and eggnogs.

He was in his element on Christmas morning, teasing and pleasing and cooking up something delicious. He wasn’t an all-star chef by any stretch of the imagination, but I can still taste the salt-infused breakfast spread he would make for the twenty of us who ate there each year. Crispy bacon, paired with thickly-sliced ham and what seemed like an entire grocery store's worth of fried eggs. You could also usually find some fresh orange slices on the table for good measure and dramatic effect. A simple breakfast, but you’d swear you were on cloud nine when you sat down to dig in. That could have been the hangover kicking in.

As the years progressed, Christmas remained my favourite holiday. Not because of the time off of school or work or the gifts, but because I knew that we would go to Nanny and Poppy’s house for brunch. As we grow up, things change, and some of the people we thought would be around forever aren’t anymore; the simplest of memories, like an annual brunch, leave the deepest impact.

This Christmas, as you overthink and worry about what gifts to buy for those you love, please remember that they don’t care about physical items at the end of the day. They won’t remember what you got them a few months or years from now, but they will remember seeing the smile on your face or hearing the sound of your laughter. Leave an impact by being present, attentive, and full of Christmas spirit.

And if you are looking for last-minute gifts for those who are hard to shop for, pick up a bag of oranges, wrap them up and give them out, and you’ll have memories that last a lifetime.

Merry Christmas.

Sam

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This reflection piece was first published in December 2022. It is my plan to re-post it each year in honour of my grandfather, Neil G. MacPhail.