My first Christmas ever was celebrated in the morning of a summer in Shiraz in the 70’s. Watching too much American movies on TV showing them how they celebrate Christmas with nicely decorated, huge pine trees and all of the beautifully wrapped boxes under the tree made me think that Christmas is something special we did not or even could not have. When my mother bought Christmas presents for her Armenian friends she always took me with her. I always hoped that the sales person would wrap the gifts as nicely as the ones I had seen in the movies. But he never wrapped them like that.
We had an Armenian neighbor, a father and a son. The father was disabled in a wheelchair. Once I asked the son if he would come to decorate one of our naarandj trees. One morning the bell rang. He brought a box with all his Christmas ornaments. I picked the naarandj tree at the end of our garden. He decorated the tree patiently. I watched him and I saw a dream came true. One of the glass ornaments broke and cut his hand. I remember the sun was in his face. He turned red because of the heat. Finally I also got my Christmas tree.
