My little white Christmas

There was no  Christmas tree dressed in lights and gold, in the Ponti family, no jingle bells to sing in the snow, and above all, certainly, no red nosed, plumpy, Father Christmas, flowing in his white beard, to come down from the unexistent chimney of our household! Not at all. My mother, who was married to pure style, considered an armful of ill mannered and consumistic junk all the bric a brac shopping of the 25th of december which was, to her,  nothing else but the day, as clear as water, the Child was born. So, in our house, only the crib sat, from the eight of december, full of shepheds and sheep on a dark table. A candle shone bright in front of the Virgin and her spouse, but the manger stood empty for many a days to come. At night, when I was about to go to bed, I could see, from a distance, the little flickering fire drawing shadows on the good and on the evil and I do not know why I felt cold and shivered...
Because we did not have our polar present express, of course it was baby Jesus in blood and bones who came down from heaven only to bestow on us, the lucky ones (God knows why...) his holy gifts: a doll for little me, a pack of Airfix soldiers for my brother Marco and who knows what else for the rest of the family. To thank the dear baby for taking a trip to earth, we left in exchange (but I do not reckon it was convenient for hime...) some nuts (with no nut cracker which made me wonder) and a glass of hot milk which was to become icy cold as the night ate up her dancing hours. On Christmas eve the family gathered around the crib and I had the honor to put the baby in his poor throne and to set the table (nuts and milk) for his nightly supper.

On the 25th of on of these crib Christmas, I woke up with the white fingers of dawn creeping through my shutters. I was up in a dash and silently crept downstairs to see if  baby Jesus had eaten his nuts and drunk his milk. All I saw was my mother, busy in front of the crib, putting away milk and nuts...