Christmas Eve

I spent many of my childhood Saturdays in my neighbor Deana's house watching TV in her parents' bedroom. The bed was soft and big, the room cream-colored, and it felt special to eat potato chips between the sheets, look at her mother Fran's clothes and spritz on her perfume. It was almost like being home except without the burdens of being at home (i.e, parents and chores) and since her parents had to work, we felt grown-up being on our own. Mostly, I was comfortable and welcome there and looking back, that's what made it special since it really wasn't so different from my own house.

Twenty years later, Deana and I found ourselves sharing a queen-sized bed again. I was visiting my sister in San Francisco and Deana drove up from Los Angeles to spend the weekend with us. This time we became children again as tagged along with my niece to story hour and her playdate, gossiped about boys and were treated to meals by my sister and her husband. Talking on the phone with Fran, Deana said how relaxed she felt there and her mother replied ''that's because you are with family.''

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Last week was my first Christmas away from my family and one of the girls from the parish, Martha, invited us to spend Christmas Eve with her family. I was a little nervous as to how I'd fit in with everyone because of the language thing and lifestyle differences, but early Wednesday morning, Martha, Jessica and I took bus, metro and van to a small town outside of Mexico City, but still in Mexico state.

The town was similar to Santa Fe in that it was filled with run-down buildings but it felt much more isolated as it lacked busy roads and contained more roosters. The three of us trekked up to Martha's home where her Mother was waiting along with Martha's teen-aged brother Arturo and niece Brenda. Immediately, she asked us what we wanted to eat and all of the 'kids' set out to buy groceries. Brenda alternated between holding my and Jess's hands as we bought street food, eggs and freshly-squeezed juice, and looked at the store with the parrot in it.

Though the family lives the way many people in Santa Fe lives--without things like heat, a living room, toilets that flush on their own and carpets --I was somewhat surprised by their poverty because Martha is always well-dressed and put-together. What they lacked materially they made up for in kindness as Jessica and I were sent to the parents' room to watch TV and sleep while they others set about preparing for dinner.

After our maps, the kids made another trek to a Wal-Mart like store filled with late Christmas shoppers. Martha quizzed us all on our favorite foods and what we wanted as presents, her little brother made jokes and gamely pushed the shopping cart and I bought Brenda a small music box that she liked listening to. Later on, when I gave it to her, she insisted that she couldn't keep it, and I was finally able to convince her that it was for her and her mother to share.

We went to 9:00 Mass--along with the whole town, it seemed. For some reason, many people brought baby dolls representing the baby Jesus as some sort of walk with them was supposed to take place. However, an hour I felt suffocated from standing surrounded by people and stepped out to get water. Brenda happened to be feeling sick as well and was outside with Martha, and Martha ordered me, Christian and Brenda to go home.

So I found myself spending Christmas Eve in a parents' bedroom with a little girl, just like I was a child again. The kids showed me their English books, I practiced the language with Christian and Brenda told me ''te quieres mucho.'' At 11:30, when everyone else came home, we had a meal of pozole (traditional soup made with corn and chicken) and ponche, though Martha made vegetables for me.

The whole day was simple and relaxing, but special because we were easily accepted by everybody and they didn't need to change their lifestyles for us. Thousands of miles away from home, I found neighbors again, ones who felt like family.