When I was a child, I was eager to work. It seemed like a “grown-up” thing to do. I helped at my dad’s wholesale business, first on Columbus Avenue, and later, on Bryant Street. I put stamps on envelopes and got rides on the handtruck when my sisters were around. (In reality, my dad was probably babysitting to give my mom a break.) Later I typed price lists and packed orders for customers. At seventeen, I worked at Kentucky Fried Chicken during the summer, making $2.00 an hour as a kitchen helper. I lasted ten days, until I inattentively reached into the salt bin instead of the sugar bin while mixing the strawberry pie filling.
But I was fortunate not to have to work at Christmas until I was in university. Christmas was always a time to bake cookies for friends, neighbors, old folks who lived alone, and my piano teacher. To mass-produce hand-crocheted mufflers for family members. To go caroling at local hospitals with high school friends.
One Christmas Eve after caroling, a bunch of us piled into my friend Danny’s car and cruised through Golden Gate Park. The park was dark and empty. Suddenly we stumbled across a brightly lit Nativity scene out in the middle of Lindley Meadow. We stopped the car, spilled out, and as we drew closer, we saw real sheep, a real fire. Real shepherds. Shyly, we approached―seven mostly Asian-American kids — Buddhists, Christians, a Jew, and “none of the above” — looking for a bit of Christmas magic. The shepherds, it turned out, were three stocky Japanese-American guys from Hawaii, students at San Francisco State. They were cursing the sheep, who had a tendency to roam, and toasting their feet in the fire to keep warm. Their wool socks steamed. They welcomed us.
Over the years, Christmas began to lose its meaning as each preceding day became just another work day. When my niece, at the age of 15, was excited to get a job at FAO Schwartz during the Christmas season, which meant she would have to work on Christmas Eve, I had mixed feelings. I tried to convince myself that it was a good thing: she had a work ethic and would never starve; but something is lost. Who is going to find the shepherds? Who will see the star?
“People gathered“: Courtesy of Valerie Everett. Licensed under cc by SA 2.0.
No Comments Yet