It was late evening, December 24, 1923, and it was Christmas Eve. I was living in the most magnifique city, Paris, France “la Ville des Lumiere”. My family had moved to Paris two years before to take care of Madame Eleanor, my grandmother on my mother’s side. Two weeks ago, on my 16th birthday, I was told it was time for me to receive an important gift, handed down to the first grandchild, on their sixteenth Christmas. My mind was racing full of imagination, wondering what this mysterious gift was. Was it a family ring, or maybe a quilt, or could it be…? The thoughts kept me up all night till eventually drifting off to dream of what might be.
It was late Christmas morning when I awoke to the most amazing aroma of honey glazed ham, mashed potatoes, all kinds of casseroles, and countless desserts cooking in the kitchen. As I walked out of my room, I could overhear my mother and grandmother talking in the kitchen.
“She didn’t sleep very well” said my mother.
“I know, she will be fine. I didn’t sleep well on my 16th Christmas either, what with talk of a secret heirloom in all. Carrying our family’s history is a wonderful responsibility. She will do fine,” replied my grandmother.
As I crept down the hallway, I admired the portraits lined along the walls. The first portrait was of my fourteenth grandmother, Madame Elsa. She was a writer and the mother of seven children. Her first grandchild was Richard. He died at the age of fifty six and had thirteen grandchildren. His first grandchild was Elsa, named after his grandmother. Her portrait was next to his, followed by Alexandrea, Theodore, and then my grandmother Madame Eleanor. I’m told my portrait will be next in line. I wondered if the paintings had something to do with the gift I would receive tonight.
My family waits till night to open gifts. We all gather around the tree and wait for my grandmother to handout the presents; tonight is when I take over handing out gifts. First, the children will open their gifts, then after the children go to bed the adults open theirs. After eating, I start my way to the chair that my grandmother normally sits in, but tonight I will be sitting in it and she will sit in the chair next to it to help me with my first Christmas handing out gifts. It takes two hours to hand out presents to the children, and now I am ready to open mine. My grandmother takes back her place sitting in the chair I had sat in while handing out gifts. With the children it goes youngest to oldest; whereas, with the adults it goes oldest to youngest, showing respect for elders. My grandmother receives a necklace with a locket that has our family portrait in it. Next, is her brother Edward—it would have been my grandfather, but he passed away three years ago. Thirteen relatives later, it is finally my turn. I am eager to find out what my gifts ware, and wonder which present contains the special gift. My first gift is wrapped in the prettiest shiny blue paper and has the biggest green bow I have ever seen. As I unwrap the gift, my heart starts to beat faster. I thought, this must be the gift that belongs to the first grandchild. It is the biggest gift. It must be it. I open the box and inside is a lovely chapeau that I had admired in the shop up town. I thought, this can’t be the one, it must be the next present. The gift is wrapped in snow white paper with gold and silver ribbons. THIS must be it. I open the gift… and am grateful to receive a necklace with a locket just like the one my grandmother received. But…it must be the last gift. The gift has shimmering red wrapping paper and a white bow. As I start to unwrap the gift, I think, finally my wait is over and to my disbelief it is a dress I had admired in the shop with the chapeau. Not understanding, I keep my composure, gather my gifts, bid my relatives bonsoir, and go to bed.
I slip into night cloths and crawl into bed, still a little disappointed. Just as I am wondering if I had done something wrong, my grandmother comes in and sits at the end of the bed. In her hand is a book. My heart skips a beat and my disappointment vanishes into excitement. My curiosity is renewed, and my mind filled with wonder once more.
My grandmother says, “Here is the greatest gift our family has passed down throughout generations. It’s a poem book that was first started by your fourteenth grandmother, Madame Elsa. She is an exceptional writer, and poured her heart and soul into this book. Read the first poem and learn the secret Elsa bestowed on to this book, and the responsibility we now share.”
As I take the book, I read the title “jamais oublie” (Never Forgotten). I open the book and start to read the first poem, titled “To Bring Us Together:”
“Come far back, to the roots of the tree, see how we belong, what makes me, me.”
As I read these words the room starts changing, what once was my room is somehow shifting back in time. Not only the room, but I as well am changing. I hear my grandmother say, “Finish the poem.” I focus back to the book and finish the poem.
“In a sea of beginnings, never lost in time, our story starts here, hear with mine, listen well, to the past of time.”
As I finish reading those words everything changes, and to my comfort my grandmother stands next to me. She looks at me and smiling, says, “Now let’s go see Madame Elsa!” This gift certainly isn’t what I expected!
