My First American Christmas

By Rodo Sofranac

	My first American Christmas celebration actually happened in Austria. During Christmas that year, my parents, sister, and I were in a refugee camp, in Salzburg. It was a rather austere setting, but we did have a roof over our heads and were able to heat the room that was our home.

	What we lacked in materials we made up for in spirit. We had a nice little Christmas tree that sat on a dresser on one side of the room. There were plenty of decorations on the tree, but not too many. There had to be enough room on the tree for the candles that were lit on Christmas Eve. A dried out little tree, with lighted candles, in a wooden barracks. Talk about having faith!

	There was always plenty of snow for a white Christmas, also. The snow was great for the sleds we used to get around. The mountains surrounding Salzburg were too steep and out of our reach, but we knew how to make due. We used the mounds of the former bomb shelters surrounding the camp as our sled hills. Unknowingly we turned tools from death and destruction into toys of joy and entertainment. 

Once in a while my friend, Friedl, and I pulled each other on a sled around the camp. The sleds in Austria were built to be tall, so the rider sat high off the ground. It must have been because the snow was invariably so deep. You could lay on your back and have your head hang down on the back of the sled. The white clouds and white snow came together in a reversed order as she pulled me around the lager. It was a fun and cheap amusement.

There were also numerous churches well within walking distance of the camp. Both Catholics and Protestants had many houses in which to worship and extol Christ’s birth. Because the refugee camp, Lager Parsch, was loaded with Eastern Europeans, they even let us celebrate the Eastern Orthodox Christmas, observed on January 7th , according to the calendar used now. Even then we had two Christmas commemorations. I told you we had plenty. 

At that time, in those two branches of Christianity, Christmas did not have the grandeur, ceremony, and hoopla that we see here and now. On our German Protestant side, the Christmas celebration was about Christmas Eve, Weihnachten, a truly silent night, holy night. Literally translated, Weihnachten means solemn eve. On our Montenegrin Orthodox side, Bozic, Christmas was a minor ceremony, a four-hour rather than a four-month event. It was third in line to Voskrise, Easter, and our patron saint’s day, Slava.

All in all, we had enough to celebrate Christmas well. We had food, family, friends, faith, and fun. Soon, however, we were going to have an opportunity to have much more of each.

A few days before this Christmas, our parents came to us and said the U.S. soldiers were going to give the camp kids a Christmas party. Since we had lived with American solders and their families for a couple of years, we already knew the remarkable generosity of these people. Of course some could claim that those that have a lot, have a lot to give. But not everyone who has a lot to give gives a lot. Sometimes they don’t even give a little. The Americans, however, gave to us amply and regularly. This party was another one of those gracious examples.

We were instructed to gather at the front barracks. My sister and I, as well as all the other kids in the camp, followed those orders. Soon a number of big, green military trucks pulled into the camp. The sound and presence of the trucks was enough for this seven-year-old to be awed. The trucks were usually troop carriers; but this time they were going to carry tots. Again unwittingly we were about to turn tools of war into toys of peace.

The American soldiers walked us over to the back of the big green trucks. I was eye-to-eye with one of the wheels, so I wondered how we were getting over the tailgate and on up to the bed of the truck. Just about then one of the soldiers grabbed me under the arms and lifted me to the sky. I had no idea what he was saying, but his smile said “Come on little buddy, let’s go have some fun!” Into the truck I went. My sister was right behind. Soon the truck was loaded with happy kids and great expectations.

The trip itself was yet another amazing ride. Bouncing through the snowy streets, and, yes, over the river and through the woods, we made our way, not to grandma’s house but to a huge, wonderfully ornamented, and even more wonderfully aromatic hall. The hall was in a building in the center of Salzburg. It was the headquarters of the U.S. forces remaining in Austria.

The hall had a beautifully trimmed tree, around which were enough colorfully wrapped boxes to stretch from here to America, however far that was. The tables were bedecked with not only festive decorations but also a bounty of food that I had never seen in all my life. In fact, if you totaled all the food I had seen to that point in my life, this was still more. And, there was no cornmeal mush or lard sandwich. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)

Besides the bounty of delicious foods, all of us kids got one of the beautifully wrapped gifts from under the tree. My sister received a pretty doll, with very life-like eyes and eyelids that even opened and closed. Unfortunately, the doll was so delicate that the eyes could easily be pushed out of the sockets and into the head, never to be retrieved again. (It was an accident, honestly. I didn’t mean to do it!)

I got a remote control model of a U.S. Army issued jeep. From the back of this little green jeep ran a two-foot long cord. Attached to the end of the cord was a small hand-held device. On the device was a handle that the operator, that was me, could crank to rotate or turn the jeep’s wheels. The faster you cranked, the faster the jeep would move. There were no computer chips, no transistors, not even batteries. It was low tech but high touch, and loads of fun.

When I think about it now, I can’t believe all the gifts we received at that one Christmas party. I also can’t believe how long they all lasted. The gifts of food lasted hours. The gifts of toys, my jeep and my sister’s doll, lasted months. I broke my sister’s doll a few months after she got it. Maybe as retribution, when we left the camp, among the many playthings we could not take with us, one of those was my jeep. 

But the greatest, most significant gift I received that Christmas was the gift of giving; a profound lesson in what it means to give. What a perfect Christmas gift—in so many dimensions. First of all, the giver doesn’t realize its significance, impact, or value to the receiver, and the receiver is unable to relate that information to the giver. Talk about unconditional love! Plus, it’s a gift than can be passed on and on—the noblest level of re-gifting. Almost fifty years later that gift is still deep within my heart and soul, and hopefully within my behaviors.

Not long after that party, or so it seemed, our parents told us we were going to leave the camp. Our family had been matched with some group that was willing to sponsor refugees in their resettlement efforts. Somewhat disappointingly, from our parent’s perspective, we were not going to Germany, as planned. Instead, we were headed to The United States of America. Some spot called Cleveland, in some other locale called Ohio. Wow! A willingness to give us a place to call home. Yet another gift of compassion from those darn Americans. A gift from people who didn’t even know us. Talk about secret Santas!

Rather than displeased, my sister and I jumped for joy. Sure, we had to learn a new culture and new language. Certainly, we would be far away from any family and friends. But if the Americans in America were half as charitable as the Americans in Austria, we would be just fine.

I have celebrated forty-seven more American Christmases since that first one, all of them in America. We have done forty-seven times more than just fine.

2004