Ever since I can remember, the Rumfelt Christmas has been a big event. The day is filled with family from baby to senior citizen, sitting on laps, talking on the phone, in and out of the house like a busy train station. On the stove Grandma is cooking various foods, both American foods as well as traditional Polish foods. In the day, Grandma Bushie would man a few pots and pans to make perogi, gwumki, and stuffed cabbage. There were always Polish sausages being boiled and somehow Grandma was able to keep a mental note of what was in each perogi and label it with toothpicks and sticky notes. The kitchen table looked like the side of the road during an election, with little picket signs everywhere! No one would walk away hungry from a Rumfelt Christmas.
After dinner, the table would be cleared, the smokers would respectfully leave the house to brave the wet winter air. The kids would receive their bags of goodies that grandma made. At one Christmas, I remember at least 10 of those bags! Candy, small toys and puzzles, and all things needed to keep the kids out of the adults hair as they prepare for battle at the kitchen table.
The food would need to settle before presents could be opened, and that was done over a few rounds of Bunko at the table. You had to watch out for Grandma Bushie, she could take the bank! She would sit in the corner with her little innocent weathered old woman face. But sitting on top of that head of hers, hidden in the Polish hair, were two horns sharp as nails. Sure, she would laugh, and yell just as loud as the four generations gathered at the table, but she was out for blood! Her bounty? This was a gambling man’s game, and she wanted the gold! Many times, she would take the pot; in turn, she would graciously give the coins to her loved great grandchildren. Great Grandma Bushie passed away nearly 10 years ago on her 83rd birthday, with a smile on her face. She will be missed.
Before and after the main event, Grandpa Hank would be nestled down in his “Fox Hole” as we called it. A very deep impression he made on the couch, and before the couch was the worn out chair in the corner. On Christmas eve, he would could be found in the chair, or on the porch. His rustic deep german vocal chords stuttered and slurred words together and made it difficult to understand him. That is, until he would yell at the kids that he couldn’t hear the TV! Grandma would be the first to defend us kids and kick him to the porch. I remember a few years I went out on the porch with him, handing him our traditional bowl of popcorn. Of all the years he was in the Rumfelt clan, he physically handed me one present. A pocket knife. I kept that pocket knife for years and to this day I think I was the only grandkid to get a present FROM Grandpa Hank. I knew under his grumpy demeanor he loved me. He passed away just over a year ago, and his part of the Rumfelt Christmas will be missed.
In the living room the Christmas Tree completely decorated and lit up would be dwarfed by the surrounding presents. Each aunt and uncle going bankrupt to buy presents for everyone. Once everyone was in place, foot stomps would be heard coming down the stairs. I could tell those massive boots anywhere! They belonged to my Dad. He would yell “HO HO HO! MERRY CHRISTMAS” and when he came into view, his traditional black work boots, dark blue work pants, and black T-shirt were accessorized by a red and white Santa hat often on top of a baseball cap atop his head. “Uncle Gregg” and “Uncle Bubba” the kids would yell, all the while I would stare at him. He would take his place, usually next to Grandma Bushie, and THEN the presents could be opened.
Each Rumfelt sibling took their turn handing out presents to their nieces and nephews. Large boxes of wonderfully wrapped presents would give way to a snow storm of paper falling from the ceiling. I loved getting presents from my aunts and uncles, but the two I looked forward to the most, and in this order, were from Grandma Bushie, and my Dad.
Grandma Bushie could be considered a cheat, she didn’t go to Toy’s R Us or even to the super market. No, her Christmas shopping consisted of going to the bank. You knew, before you set foot in the same county as her present, that it was going to be money. But you didn’t know how much it was going to be. You see, Grandma Bushie gifted on a curve. The oldest got the most, and proportionately decreasing to the youngest. When I was the youngest child, I was given between $2 and $10. But when I graduated to the oldest great grandchild, and the last year I was with the Rumfelts for Christmas, she blew me away with a one hundred dollar bill! She knew money was going to put a huge smile on our faces, and a big kiss on her 80 year old cheek. She loved kisses and hugs, and she would grab tight to your hand with one of hers, rubbing your hand with her free one and looking deep into your eyes would encourage you to “Buy something nice!” in a VERY Polish accent.
Now my Dad. He didn’t go buy rolls of wrapping paper, he said it was a waste of money. Instead, he collected the Sunday comics from the year, and wrapped all his presents in colorful newspaper that was actually hard to open. One year he wrapped my Aunt Glynis’ presents in duct tape and comics!!! Took her FOREVER to open them.
My Dad’s presents to me were special. While as a kid I never really appreciated them, I now look back and see the sacrifice he made to give me something from his heart.
My Dad gave two things to every event, Christmas included. The first is his humor. He could make Hitler laugh if given the chance, and as a result was the cornerstone of every event. Even if he didn’t say much, people wanted him there. He set the mood, even when he didn’t set it. He set a positive atmosphere, even if he wasn’t feeling good. And he was the child’s play toy as they loved hanging from his huge bicepts.
The second was his security. No matter the event, a Rumfelt attracts danger! And a collection of Rumfelts collects a war of danger. Whether internally, or externally, something bad was inevitable at almost every Rumfelt event. But my dad would stand up, with both feet on the ground, his 6’4 300lb frame would stand between you and danger, and danger would run away.
It has been a long time since I was a guest to my Dad’s presence at a Rumfelt Christmas party. But I still, without fail, call on Christmas day to hear his voice and the words I live for “I’m so proud of you Jonathan.” It was better than anything he could wrap with the comics, but he would give me a joke or three over the phone.
This is the first year I won’t hear those words from him. And I cry writing that.
This Chrismas, when I call the Rumfelts, I know that something is missing there as it is here. My heart yearns to say something comforting, my brain confused that I won’t hear him. I know my family is struggling to even imagine a Christmas without “Bubba Claus” and his santa hat. Who will set the mood? Who will stand up securely? And who will start the wrapping paper fight!?
It will be tough, but Christmas comes and goes even when those we love are not present. This Christmas, we celebrate the birth of Jesus without regret for omitting them. We will laugh at the year’s humors, and we will cry at the absence of our heroes.
For my family, I am placing a chair in the corner for those I love that are no longer here to celebrate. A chair of honor that no one will be able to sit in; I’ll raise a glass to my Dad for his love for me to his last breath; to my Grandpa Hank for sacrificing a normal life to spend with ours!!; and to my Great Grandma Bernice (bushie) for her unfailing wisdom and kisses.
A new tradition to be started in the shadow of great experiences.
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