The Twelfth Day of Christmas

By January 1st most of us have packed away the Christmas decorations. We’re weary from standing in line returning gifts that we didn’t need or want. We are stressed out from the added pounds we’ve gained because of the sweets we’ve consumed, and “The Twelve Days of Christmas” is just another carol we’ve heard too many times.

For Latin American families, however, “The Twelve Days of Christmas” is much more than a song- it’s a real part of the celebration. For Latino families December 25th is the first day of Christmas and January 6th, the twelfth day, marks the end. It’s an essential part of the Christmas season commemorating the day when the Three Wise Men or “Los Reyes Magos” followed the star to Bethlehem bringing gifts to the Christ child. On January 5th figures of the Three Wise Men are added to the family’s Nativity scene. Before going to bed, children put their shoes or stockings in the living room where the Wise Men leave them their presents. A generous platter of milk and cookies is left out for Melchor, Gaspar, and Baltasar’s arrival, and in some places families even leave hay outside for their faithful animals.

In 1976, while I was still a student at Appalachian State University, I had a memorable encounter with a young Mexican girl on the twelfth day of Christmas. This chance meeting taught me more about the spirit of giving than anything that has happened to me either before or since.

Being impetuous, curious, and having absolutely no common sense, I left Boone on Christmas Day bound for Mexico with a friend who didn’t speak any Spanish. Traveling through rural Mexico by car in the 1970s was a real adventure- just picture “Survivor” gone south of the border. Most of the roads weren’t paved, there were few gas stations, and the potholes were big enough to dislocate your spine.

On Three Kings Day we were near Veracruz headed for home on roads that looked more like jungle trails than actual thoroughfares. We had been having trouble with the car and I was terrified that we wouldn’t make it to the next village before dark. Being stranded in the jungle wasn’t my idea of holiday fun! I could see that my big Mexican adventure was turning out to be a big, scary nightmare.

As usual, we hadn’t planned well. It was getting late and we were out of food. Then we saw the welcome site of what appeared to be a cantina, but I couldn’t tell for sure. This “restaurant” sat in the middle of a small clearing and featured no signs or amenities. It had a plastic shower curtain for a door, a thatched roof and a picnic table out front where a few gentlemen were eating. As we parked, I saw a lovely lady and her young daughter gracefully bringing their customers fresh glasses of cold lemonade.

“¿Podemos tomar algo con ustedes, por favor, could we please eat something with you,” I asked. Because of my blonde hair and blue eyes all of them turned and looked at me as if I was a creature from outer space. But the woman invited us to sit down while her daughter peeked at us shyly from behind the shower curtain. A few minutes later the señora brought us a steaming bowl of delicious stew, the only item on the menu that day, and fresh tortillas. Her “niña” tagged along at her side holding on to her skirt.

“Hi. How are you precious,” I asked her in Spanish. I was surprised when she let go of her mother and came to sit beside me.

“Hola, my name is Linda,” she said. “Are your eyes real? I like them. Can I touch them?”

“Mucho gusto, Linda,” I replied. “Yes, my eyes are real, but touching them isn’t a good idea.” She laughed and told me that she had never seen anyone with blue eyes before.

Over lunch we talked. She asked me questions about my home in North Carolina and my family. She was fascinated by American things, so I took a few dimes and quarters from my pocket to show her. When it was time to push on, I told her to keep the coins as a late Christmas gift from a new American friend.

“Wait,” she said, “don’t leave yet. I want to give you something too.” In a flash she ran to her mother’s cash box and came back with a five peso coin. “Here, take this,” she demanded putting the coin in my hand, “It’s my gift to you for Three King’s Day.”

I was stunned by this beautiful child’s generous offer. In spite of my protests Linda wouldn’t take no for an answer. Her mother also agreed that the stranger with the unusual hair and eyes should share in their Three King’s Day celebration.

Linda and her mother appeared to have so little
when in fact they had so much.

They had the true spirit of Christmas- a desire to give and to welcome a stranger expecting nothing in return. For thirty years I have kept Linda’s gift in my pocket and her friendship in my heart.