Warning!
This is a book for the open-minded only!
If you feel that you already know all about the mysteries of our existence, your view of life is set and you would like to keep it this way, then this book is not meant for you. Don't bother reading...
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Education is example and love, nothing else.
- Friedrich Gröbel
Christmas Eve had finally arrived and I was sitting in the living room, surrounded by my family, cat and boyfriend.
Sad tears were streaming down my face and I tried to wipe them away as inconspicuously as possible, feeling a bit embarrassed. Why did I have to be so emotional, for God's sake?
Beni, who was sitting on the sofa next to me (we had celebrated with his parents earlier that day), shot me a surreptitious glance. Pretending at the same time that he was listening to Mum with rapt attention.
Realizing that I was crying, he smirked as soon as he caught me looking at him. I had actually hoped that nobody would notice. . . well, too late.
I rolled my eyes at him, which somehow did not come across quite as offhandedly as I had planned, since I had to blow my nose right at that moment to keep it from running. Which would have added to my embarrassment even more.
Like every Christmas Eve, Mum had picked up an old, battered book to read out a Christmas story, after our family had finished singing and playing soulful Christmas carols.
Maybe I should explain here that some of these carols are actually quite old and sophisticated; nothing like the upbeat, superficial songs, which one hears non-stop on the radio and in the supermarkets during the time leading up to the evening of the 24th of December.
As was our tradition, Mum and I played the guitar, Dad a mouth organ, and Tina the flute.
Before moving into our house in Henndorf (which had happened when I had been thirteen years old), the ceremony had taken place in the living room (containing the infamous table) of our old apartment. Although we children had admittedly not been too concerned with the holiness of the occasion when we had been small, as we would anxiously - and a bit impatiently - listen for the ringing of a bell indicating that the "Christkind" (a kind of angel/baby Jesus) had come, carrying presents.
As soon as the eagerly awaited sound would reach our ears, my sister and I would immediately dash into my parents' sleeping room (which doubled as our eating room and my study during the day), where a beautifully decorated Christmas Tree would be standing in all its glory.
Adorned with colorful glass baubles, lametta and burning candles, sheltering a multitude of perfectly wrapped gifts at its trunk, its beauty and magic always took our breath away. Tina and I would stop right at the door and stare at it in awe for a few moments, breathing in the unique scent of burning candles, sparklers and fir. In one word: Christmas!
Soon after our parents, sometimes accompanied by my paternal grandmother, would join us and we would all be sing one last song: Silent Night.
Mum would then go and retrieve the presents and hand them one by one to their intended recipient, who would eagerly rip off the protective paper in order to get to the hidden treasure beneath it.
