From 14 to 24, I spent my holidays here.

From Thanksgiving to Christmas, every weekend was here.

I was part of a play, but it wasn't really a play. It was a celebration of the holiday and it meant more to me than any church. It was a recreation of a boar's head dinner, where the king would send his greatest hunter into the woods to kill the deadly boar and then, all the townspeople would be invited to a giant dinner.

I watched kids grow up into their roles. I was a wassail for the first part. We would come running out and jump around, kiss ladies, shake hands and sing loudly. It was so much fun. Then, later, I was a shepherd for the second part of the play, which showed the first day in the life of Jesus.

I stared at this painting of Jesus until I memorized every single stroke. I'd stand on that altar, covered in pancake makeup. I was one of the only Catholic boys, but I never felt like I did not belong. In fact, in those moments, I felt closer to God than I ever would again.

When I stopped being in the play, Christmas stopped meaning so much. I missed the nights of makeup and cleaning my skin with the bracing cleanser, walking into the cold night and feeling like I actually did something good for the world during the holiday. I did more than buy gifts or open wrapping paper. I tried to show people something.

Every night, I would draw for all the kids. They would ask for anything and I would try and draw it. I drew so many Power Rangers, so many X-Men. It helped me be a better person, too, helping these kids. And talking to old people. Talking to people so much older than me is a passion of mine. I learned about my town and about God from these people.

There was always such a rush to come back home in October for when practices would start. And now, there is an emptiness that I never really sat down and examined. When I saw the church this morning, it reminded me.

Photo - S
Words - S