Christmas Eves Recalled

    It's odd, but we think of childhood as an extended period, as an important and lengthy portion of our lives, but in adult-years, far removed from the burst of childhood, those years when we were children are like the blink of an eye.  The memories then formed  delude us into thinking that those times were the way things should have been, and in our minds they take on a permanence that never really existed.  Thus, my memories of  the real Christmas Eve:
       Those of us who were old enough, at least seven years of age,would all go to Confession in the afternoon of Christmas Eve, at Our Lady of Good Counsel Church.  I think the time was from 4:00 to 7:00 p.m.  Then confessions were heard in the Confessional boxes, at the back of the church.  The kind where it was dark inside, and you knelt on a little bench and waited for the priest to slide the door open  in the little window on your side.  There were two confessional booths in the church, and, on occasions like this, both the pastor and the assistant pastor would be hearing confessions.  Back then, confessions were not a routine happening, much more rigorously scheduled, and not highly frequented except at Christmas and Easter, when every Catholic felt the need to be cleansed of sin.  Sinners would be lined up all the way down (or up) both outside aisles.  If the lines were too long, some of the older communicants would wait in the pews, along with those whose confessions had already been heard, and were saying their Penances in the pews.  Sometimes that was a lengthy process, especially for those who only went to Confession once or twice a year.  It was nothing to have received 25 Our Fathers and 25 Hail Marys if you'd been remiss. 
     Sometimes one line would be considerably longer than the other, depending on which priest was the more mellow, or the least terrifying, as we kids would have seen it.  Once inside the box, or booth, we knelt and waited in the darkness for that door to slide open, and even then the priest would be behind a curtain; I think it was dark green.  The booth was double, with the priest's compartment in the center, and a section on each side for the sinners.  Privacy was paramount, and you were never supposed to divulge what you, the priest, or anyone else said inside that booth, under penalty of Mortal Sin.  Sometimes you could overhear part of what the other person was saying, and sometimes the priest would in no uncertain terms tell that person how wrong he was.  You'd try not to listen, but couldn't help hearing, and so would try to forget what you'd overheard as soon as possible, hoping it was not another sin on your part that needed confessing.  When your door slid open, and you could finally see the outline of the  priest's face, you hoped your mind wouldn't go blank as to the procedure.  Your first words to the shadowed figure had better be "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."  After that, total secrecy, even unto today.
      When the priest had heard your sins and absolved you of them, pending of course, your recitation of your Penance, you would retreat to an empty pew to say your penance.  I always guiltily hoped I had truly confessed all my transgressions, fearing maybe I had missed some.
      Back home, we would wait for Midnight Mass, and of course were forbidden to partake of food or even water.  (Sunday Masses  had the same restrictions and it was not uncommon to see young girls and older women fall in a faint kneeling at the Communion Rail, having had to refrain from all sustenance from the night before until after Communion.)  At our house the wait  until midnight was both exhilarating and exhausting when we were little.  For midnight in those days meant exactly that; it would have been heretic to call a service a Midnight Mass if it were held at 10:00 or any other time.  We had no television in those days and my father  would have already read the newspaper and  my mother would have been finished with her daily chores, so to keep us kids awake, way past our bedtime, the whole family would play cards, pretty much the only game available.  There was  checkers, but that could occupy only two people at a time.  I can remember a card game called Pit;  it seemed the face cards were grains, and one of the grains was called rape.  I had no idea of any other connotation, but I remember definitely feeling some uneasy vibes when we would shout out the name of that card. 
     Midnight Mass itself was invariably mysteriously beautiful, with the church crowded with people, and decorated, and there was a large Manger scene we kids would strain to view.  I can remember being there, all my family present, with the music and the lights, struggling to stay awake.  The mystique of all the holiness merged into a  picture of what I imagined  Heaven would be like.