Ringing our bells … The magical, miserable serendipity of family tradition

 

By Mary Kay Roth

Once upon a time, about 25 years ago, the legend of our family bells began – not an elegant, heart-warming beginning, but a grudging, reluctant one. 

Bottom line, I was simply trying to teach my two rather sullen preteens a lesson in kindness. And though I had tried various other “good deed” ventures with my kids, nothing stuck.

So, I signed us up to ring Salvation Army bells one Christmas Eve morning – and, yes, a little over-zealous, I registered for two consecutive two-hour stints on what turned out to be a particularly frigid day.  (Josh, around 12 years old at the time, now remembers it as a six-hour ordeal – Anna, then 10, claims we rang bells for 12 hours. DO NOT BELIEVE THEM.) 

Indeed, however long the torment really lasted, it was a miserable start.  The kids refused to ring the bells.  For some mysterious reason, Anna had worn silly summery slippers. Josh just wanted it to be over.  And it was bone-chilling, bloody cold. 

I knew we were in deep trouble.  

Desperately, in a valiant attempt to salvage the experience, I started to sing.  At first I went solo, boldly bellowing every carol I knew.  Then, ever so gradually – I think because I was a complete source of embarrassment – my kids started to join me … in a glowering, unenthusiastic preteen kind of way. 

Something bewildering happened.  Solemn shoppers who had been trudging past us, often avoiding eye contact, started to hesitate. Smile. Laugh.  Rummage through their pockets for change.  

Our donation bucket filled. We kept on singing. And the frozen minutes melted away.

That night my kids told everyone their mother had tortured them for Christmas by making them stand outside and freeze to death.

And yet the following year, we signed up to do it again.  

And again.  And again. And we sang every time.  

In the beginning, it was just the three of us. 

Eventually it grew.  My brother came. With his kids. My parents dropped in.  Eventually partners and spouses. Neighbors and friends started to stop for a song or two.  Grandkids joined the ranks. 

And now this simple, two-hour ritual has become our very favorite tradition as we gather each year on Christmas Eve morning to ring bells and serenade shoppers.

Some years we all show up.  Some years, fewer of us.

Some years we are ringing bells in t-shirts.  Other years we bundle up with four layers and foot warmers, rotating in and out of the store for warmth.  We ring and sing through rain – sleet – snow.   

And over the years we have tweaked our ringing panache.

We hand out candy now, wear holiday trimmings.  We bring our own bells because they never provide enough.  We ask shoppers if they have Christmas song requests. Last year Anna brought her Bluetooth.

We even have signature numbers.  We always attempt – and mangle – Twelve Days of Christmas (WITHOUT Googling it).  We do a marvelous Santa Baby with parts for guys and gals.  We actually “fall on our knees” for O Holy Night.  We do the Three Dog Night version of Joy to the World.  

Some of us honestly cannot carry a tune.  People have offered – laughingly, at least I think laughingly – to pay us to stop singing.  

Mostly shoppers smile at us, even giggle.  Time and again, someone will buy us hot cocoa or coffee.  Children come up and offer their coins. Adults pull out more – we’ve seen hundred-dollar bills stuffed inside the bucket.  

Inevitably, several times throughout the morning, someone will hear us, stop (often with a far-away look in their eye), and subsequently begin to sing along.

I generally offer these people a hug.

Then I pause to consider the curious traditions that emerge from serendipity – marveling at the magic of one miserable morning, long ago, an inauspicious beginning transformed into a ritual that brings us together each and every year.  For two sacred hours the frantic holiday craziness subsides, we laugh so hard our sides hurt and our family embraces … joy. 

Deck the Halls.  The First Noel. White Christmas.  Oh Come, All Ye Faithful.

Yes, keeping the faith, later this month as Christmas draws near, we will gather once again … to sing and ring.  

And when our two-hour shift is done and we are ready to hang up our bells, we will huddle together – in memory of my parents – and quietly sing our grand finale, Silent Night, my dad’s absolute favorite carol.  

I will cry during that song, as I always do.  Everyone knows I will. 

“All is calm.  All is bright.”

Then we will each head our separate way, the air around us suddenly feeling so incredibly still.