“NO MOMMY DON’T PLAY IT!”

The music box in my hand is beautiful. Something always breaks at Christmas, and last year it was my angel of stained glass that played “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” Bo searched and searched to find a replacement for that music box, and now I have a stained glass box depicting three angels singing.

But I cannot hear them sing.

“PLEASE!”

Biff hides behind his love-worn bear, tears welling up in his eyes. He looks old in so many ways: his height, his strength, his bottomless appetite for pizza. And yet there are those things that launch Biff into a panic not unlike a toddler up past bedtime.

Today it is a music box.

“But it’s just a Christmas song.”

“NO NO NO NO NO NO NO PLEEEEEEEEEASE!” He sobs as though his bear had been thrown in the garbage.

“Okay, Biff, it’s okay. I’ll put it down.”

~*~

When one grows up with very little, one learns to find joy in the little things. Christmas music has always carried a power—a comfort, a wonder, a magic—that transcends one beyond whatever darkness has swept the landscape. There are always challenges to be faced this time of year, like the extra school events, extra gifts to be bought, extra family gatherings, extra services at church. Music has been my way to find a calm through it all, which is why I’ve shared some favorite choirs, carols, and songs here through the years. A comfort food, you could say—not quite like candied yams or J.B. Fletcher solving yet another murder, but a comfort that nurtures deeper. A soul’s comfort.

Yet that same comfort causes pain in my son.

~*~

Biff has always been delicate about “toys that make noise.” Sometimes it seemed like a logic thing—“Snowman don’t really sing. Trucks can’t talk.” Visiting a Hallmark store at Christmastime is a nightmare for him because of aaaaaaaaaaaall the keepsake ornaments that make noise because who loves pushing buttons? His twin brother.

And his mom, admittedly. 

C’mon, these things are NEAT! They play little carols or snippets from favorite films. Granted, the Star Wars ones are rather hokey, but there’s always a Star Trek ship that lights up and makes laser sounds. How could that not appeal to my little Trekkie Biff?

But for Biff, we may as well be amplifying bad feedback from a microphone. Even if he doesn’t bawl, giant tears will cascade down his cheeks until we leave the store. Once we’re underway, I follow a strategy my own therapist told me for dealing with panic attacks: sensory distraction. “Time for some proper Christmas music!” I’ll say.

“Uh oh” will be the typical response from Blondie, as she knows my idea of “proper Christmas music” can be anything from a choral carol to Muppets to disco—yes, disco—or my newest favorite, Christmas Cocktails.

Bash will make a series of dramatic faces before finally turning to his own stuffed animal brigade to get them dancing behind Biff’s chair. “C’mon, Biff, make yours dance!” And after a few moments, in the midst of the sassy brass of “Jingle Bells,” a cadre of bouncing stuffed raccoons, hedgehogs, seals, and bears bring Biff from tears to laughter.

~*~

We each of us have our comforts, don’t we? Yes, there are the common comforts—clothing, shelter, food. But there are the unique comforts, too. Nothing comforts Bo like the sounds of the Bishop’s Wife playing over and over while he makes dozens of his mother’s spritz Christmas cookies. I’ll happily reread Poirot short stories curled up under one of my awkward afghans, cup of pre-dawn coffee in hand. But for all of us, my little Bs included, there is a special comfort to be found in music.

It just as to be the right music.

“Mom, what are you putting on?” Biff eyes me suspiciously as I carry the archeological artifact known as a “CD” to the even older device known as a “stereo” or “boombox.”

“Just some Charlie Brown, kiddo.”

Biff waits to hear the familiar opening chords to “O Christmas Tree” and sighs in relief. A Charlie Brown Christmas has been a staple in millions of American homes for decades, including my own. All my not-so-little Bs will watch it every December, and we listen to its music throughout the month. It’s a masterpiece in piano work, in jazz work. There’s something quietly mischievous about the carols, too, as though Guaraldi’s daring the church organist to have a go at his rendition of “What Child is This?”

But what means the most to me is seeing how my kids enjoy this music. They quiet down, look at their books or draw, and just…just listen. Such music wields a special magic on these very different souls.

And so, the new music box remains quiet. The keepsake ornaments keep their noises to themselves. May we all enjoy the songs that feed our souls, for this is the season to bear tidings of comfort.

Comfort, and joy.

~*~

Alas, I wasn’t able to dive into some historic Wisconsin, as both our cars died right before Thanksgiving. 😦 However, there are other things to be thankful for: interviewing a fellow indie author, for instance, and exploring how another writer applies a story idea similar to my own. And who knows? We could always enjoy a few more Christmas Cocktails together. 🙂

Read on, share on, and write on, my friends!