The Gifts of Imperfection

Christmas is practically here, and I find myself thinking about how the season always began in the Heffron household—typically on the first Sunday of December, which usually coincided with the first Sunday of Advent. That morning, we'd assemble an Advent wreath in the Church Hall after Mass (another big deal in my house). But it was what came after that we all braced ourselves for: Doreen's annual recreation of decking the halls, Norman Rockwell style.

Spoiler alert—it never quite turned out the way she envisioned.

With Bing Crosby's rendition of "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" playing on the console, the big question of the day was always: to flock or not to flock? It may seem trivial to some, but in the Heffron house, there were two camps—green or white. While the rest of us wanted green, Doreen wanted white. And white is what we got. A fully flocked tree where nary a needle could be detected, white lights, and shiny red balls, each skillfully positioned and tied with a red ribbon. There were no handmade ornaments, no strings of popcorn, and absolutely no tinsel to be had. And kids were unauthorized to decorate unless they passed the bow-tying requirements.

Mic (aka Dad) would haul the tree up to our big deck, somehow hook up the old canister vacuum cleaner to a bag of wet white stuff, and set the device to blow out air rather than suck things up. Only my brother was allowed outside when this special ritual was taking place and inevitably, the hose would detach, spraying fake snow all over my dad, my brother, and the large windows that flanked our deck.

It was a mess. And I'm sure Mic's "Christmas Spirit" could be heard by neighbors several blocks away.

While all the "White Christmas" frivolity and outdoor light stringing was taking place, my sister and I were in the kitchen helping Doreen with the cookies. My mother had very little patience for the messiness that accompanies cookie decorating, so that activity was always quickly halted and replaced by the making of fudge and our famous popcorn balls—a staple Christmas treat in the Heffron household. The crunchy, gooey goodness of perfectly popped popcorn, Karo syrup, sugar, butter, vanilla, and of course, red and green food coloring was truly a highlight of the season. A tradition that lives on today. A healthy snack, to be sure.

As if cookies, fudge, and popcorn balls weren't enough for the day, it was time for pie baking—the nemesis of the season for my mother. Whoever coined the phrase "easy as pie" never met Doreen. There on the counter sat the red and white checkered Betty Crocker cookbook, opened to the pie dough page. It looked easy enough. But no. Not so much.

Pie dough was not Doreen's forté, often sparking a heated battle between dough and Doreen. I'm not sure, but I seem to recall pieces of pastry dough being flung in frustration across the kitchen, hitting whatever stood in its way—once missing its intended target and startling our little dog, Buffy. It was not pretty. Eventually, much to Doreen's dismay and delight, I took over the task of holiday pie baking.

Now, while all this was going on, my very creative brother—having cleaned up after the vacuum explosion—could be found in a corner of the kitchen quietly concocting rum balls. Yes, 151-proof rum balls. Delicious bite-sized balls of intoxicating heaven. Somehow, a lot more rum than the recipe called for seemed to make its way into his creation. His stealthy demeanor quickly turned to giggles, then to hysterical slurred words celebrating his masterpiece. Of course, Doreen wasn't all that joyful about his escapades, but Mic was right there volunteering to taste-test the high-octane confections.

Personally, I thought it all made for a jollier family. One must have a sense of humor.

At the end of the day, thoroughly exhausted, we gathered around our dining table, anticipating the joyful season ahead. The first candle of the Advent wreath was lit, and we enjoyed a family dinner and shared a few laughs about the day. After the dishes were done, we settled by the fire to watch the Carpenter's Christmas special together—or if we were lucky, the original animated version of The Grinch.

We weren't anything like the families depicted in Norman Rockwell's beautiful illustrations. And no matter how hard Doreen worked to create the illusion of perfection, we were simply us.

Looking back now, I can see that we were absolutely perfect in our own human experience of life. Just the way we were meant to be.

Both Doreen and Mic are no longer with us, but their spirits live on, and I'm grateful to have these Holidays with the Heffron's memories to share with you. They're a reminder that those we love are passing through and won't be here forever. Spread the love while you can—it's too late when they're gone.

This holiday season, as you gather with your own beautifully imperfect families, let go of the idea of perfection. Give the gift of your authentic, imperfectly perfect self—to those you love (and maybe even the ones you don't).

Love and Light,
Michèle