February 2004

Alex Suha • The Mysteries of Christmas

When I was younger, I always loved a Christmas tree. Once, at the house of a young family of old friends, I remember gazing at their tree, which I helped decorate. I never understood what happens on Christmas morning.

Alex and his girlfriend Marissa

But the Christmas spirit engulfs me when the Wheeling High School Madrigal Singers Dinner comes 'round again. When I was at school, I played a jester for two years, a great honor. It was one of my most favorite performance experiences. I got to badger audience members as they ate, beat the beggars, and toast the wassail.

This year, when I was home from the university, I sat at table 7 in a corner. The other family at the table mentioned having rented the same banquet hall for a bar mitzvah. "So, what kinds of things do you write?" they asked, when they found that I’m taking creative writing classes at the UI. "I enjoy nonfiction. I like to look at what is really happening," I replied. Like what, exactly, is this table filled with obvious Jews doing at a dinner devoted to Christmas?

My girlfriend, Marissa, and her family, the Atkins, sat at table 11, not far away. They were all there—Marissa, Mikey, Dad, and Carol, members of a family that I somehow had the honor to join. They’ve told me over and over that I’ll always have a place in their home, and I’ve shared with Marissa how strange it felt in their home, as if it were our home, with Grandma and the kids.

The madrigal dinner was where Marissa and I first met at high school, she a singer and I a fool. Rehearsals during junior year gave me lots of time to check her out. On the mirror in my room, I've still got that picture of us after our first dinner. We were both in costume, tired and naive, no idea what we would explore of each other in the very near future. I have the white, red, and blue makeup on and the whole silky colorful jester robe. She stood shorter than me in her costume, the blue dress she bought from an older graduating singer. A velvety, deep blue with pearly beads sewn on. Marissa was made to wear this dress. Beautiful.

This year, as an audience member instead of a performer, I was there for the new jesters, for the music, and the pleasure of seeing all the wreaths and green and red decorations. I figured I was also there for Christmas. I’ve never celebrated the holiday, but the madrigal dinner is something that I know inside and out—passing notes among performers and alumni, the boar’s head, the guppy in the jester's cider. I will always be an expert on this dinner. Two years is a long time to be a jester and as the new ones wished us "a season filled with love and beauty," I spun each line in my head, pulsing it just under my lips in reminiscence. This is probably as close to Christmas as I get. These traditions and these people are the warmest parts.

It was opening night this year, and it slowly came to a close, all too quick. We were invited to sing with them—“Silent Night,” “Joy to the World,” “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” I was the only one at my table singing.

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