Twas the Night Before: A Caribbean Christmas Tale

As my family still lay asleep all through the house, I sit here in solitude. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, a tiny dark movement. It's a Christmas guest—a mouse.

A new day dawns, it's Christmas Eve morning.

As I sit here in the Dominican Republic between the shadows of the sunroom, ornate bars and concrete walls seperate me from the outside world. The sun is rising, casting piercing rays into the corners of this small but quaint space.

Outside, motorcycles zip by the slower and less agile cars. A woman walks by with an umbrella, a shield from the relentless morning sun.

Around the corner, a familiar street vendor's voice booms out in Spanish, “Aguacates y plátanos! Aguacates y plátanos!” He’s making his morning round selling avocados and plantains. Here, food is around every corner, at all times, at the hands of struggling locals just trying to earn an honest living.

As my family still lay asleep all through the house, I sit here in solitude.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, a tiny dark movement. I turn my head to see, and there in the shadows, a Christmas guest—a tiny mouse. How appropriate considering the day.

At the sight of the tiny creature, a childhood poem surfaces from the depths of my mind:

“Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…” —Clement Clark Moore

I have never seen a mouse in the Dominican Republic and it's my third time visiting family here. I'm sure they are all around, but so looms their predator. There are many stray gatos—cats—in the streets, that it only makes sense mice are a rare sight.

Here, they tread lightly, each footstep a path toward survival or doom.

Christmas in the Dominican Republic is much different than how it is celebrated back home in the ever commercialized States of America.

In the Dominican Republic, Christmas Eve, known as 'Nochebuena', is the pinnacle of holiday celebrations.

Families gather, not for the exchange of gifts but for the warmth of togetherness, for the joy of shared meals, laughter, and stories that weave the fabric of familial bonds.

We too, are here for that very reason—family. Not on vacation so much as to be with our family on my wife's side this holiday season—to celebrate the bonds we share.

The mouse in the sunroom, a rare sight in a land where predators loom, becomes a symbol of these simple joys. It scurries about, unnoticed and unbothered, much like the essence of Christmas here – subtle, yet deeply ingrained in every moment, every interaction.

As the day unfolds, the streets of Santo Domingo come alive, not with the frenzy of last-minute shopping, but with the rhythms of merengue and bachata. Music spills from homes and markets, a testament to the Dominican spirit, vibrant and unyielding even in the simplest of celebrations.

Later tonight, families and neighbors will congregate for a feast. Unlike the hurried, often commercialized meals back in the States, here it's an unhurried affair.

The doors will be open, not just for family, but a moment when strangers become neighbors, and the unnamed faces all introduce themselves over shared festive meals.

The tables will be laden with traditional dishes – roast pork, rice with pigeon peas, and sweet treats like 'dulce de leche'.

There's an unspoken understanding that this meal isn't just about food; it's about reaffirming connections, about honoring traditions that have weathered much and still stand strong.

It's evening now. As the day ebbs away and I sit with my family, I realize how this Christmas starkly contrasts with those of my childhood, marked by the shadow of my father's absence and the struggles that followed.

I also sit and think of how the American culture embraces Christmas today in stark contrast to how the Dominican culture celebrates.

Yet, there's a common thread across time and space – the resilience of the human spirit, the ability to find joy and meaning in the face of adversity, be it through a child's ingenuity in a movie like Home Alone, or the simple act of sharing a meal from la cocina—the kitchen—in the Dominican Republic.

Tonight, there will be no stockings hung by the chimneys, no Santa Clause blazing across the sky, no reindeer tales. Christmas here does not involve wrapped gifts.

But there's something more profound – a celebration of life in its purest form, unadorned by commercial glitz but rich in the wealth of human connection.

Here are some overlapping celebrations I currently hear from the pulse of the Dominican streets.

And as the night goes on, the laughter and music will eventually taper off into a comfortable silence.

The mouse, my unexpected Christmas guest, will have long disappeared into the shadows. But its presence, like the essence of this Dominican Christmas, will linger – a reminder.

Sometimes, the most meaningful moments are found not in wrapped presents, but in the quiet, unnoticed corners of life—in the unwrapped presence of community.

As night will surely fall on this Feliz Navidad Eve, the words of the Christmas poem will echo in my mind, a bridge between the past and present, between different worlds of Christmas celebrations.

It's a reminder that even as traditions vary, the core of Christmas – peace, love, and togetherness – remains universal. It's a lesson in appreciating the beauty of contrasts and finding harmony in the diverse gifts of our lives.

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, a different kind of stirring, inspired by a different kind of mouse.