Friday, Dec. 26, 2003 - 5:03 p.m.
Top Christmas Memory of 2003

I was grinning away to myself in church Christmas Eve, remembering how my high school buddy Scott used to goof off on Christmas Eves past. Anytime we were sitting together or near each other, he had a knack for accentuating—not the positive—but the sexual undertones of Yuletide caroling.

You know, there we’d be—there the whole congregation would be—singing those schmaltzy lyrics, and when it came to lines like “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” Scott could turn the most festive singsong into porn dialogue.

I was sitting there in the pew between my Grandma and my 17 year old nephew Travis. The service hadn’t begun yet. Marie was on the other side of her brother, then their mom Anne and my Dad. Mom was singing up in the choir. We all held our white candles, handed to us as we walked in along with the bulletin. In the United Church, it’s long been the tradition that the Christmas Eve service ends with the lights out and everyone holding up a lit candle as we sing ‘Silent Night’ (“Round yon virgin….”). The first few years this was meaningful, but like anything else, the ritual loses something after the umpteenth time.

Travis and Marie were giggling about something. I smiled at them, blankly. Travis leaned over, held up his candle, and whispered, “Uncle QS, does this look like a penis to you?”

I scrunched my face up into mock righteousness. “Travis, you should know better than to ask your uncle a question like that!” My fresh-faced, handsome nephew—decked out in a gorgeous navy blue suit—looked worried; had he finally crossed a line with his usually-easy-going uncle?

“I mean, geez,” I continued, "Everything looks like one to me, eh?”

“Yeah,” said the grinning, blushing lad.