A Trapp Family Christmas: An NR tradition - how a large family celebrates Christmas

National Review, Dec 31, 2000 by Aloise Buckley Heath

So we drew, and five of them drew their own names and Janet ate one, which turned out, after we hit her on the back, to be John. So we made another slip for John (a piece of paper our baby has eaten is distinctive) and we drew again and eight of them drew their own names. I said, maybe it would work out better if I drew a name for each of them, and they said, no sir, not and have you know who everybody's Christkindl is and comparing what everybody did for their Christkindlen, no sir, Mother, none of that stuff. Jim and Pam said that if they could have paper and pencil and peace and quiet they could probably work it out by mathematical probabilities, but it was getting pretty late, so I called them up by ages, and before Jim drew I took out his name, and before Pam drew I took out her name and put back Jim's, and so on. (Well, unless I tell you, how will you ever know how to do it?)

When we had all drawn (which took far more time to do than to read about, no matter what you're thinking), everybody opened his little slip of paper "at a given signal." That's how the Trapps do it, and that's how we did it. I said: "Everybody ready? One. Two. Three. Open. Well, pick it up and open it now, Alison! Everybody does not have to fold their paper up again and forget the names they drew. . . . Besides, how could they? . . . Not fold the papers, for heaven's sake; forget the names! . . . Well, all right . . . all right, I said; we're starting over. Everybody ready? One. Ready-Alison, anybody would think you were five and a half. Two. Three. Open. ALISON!!" So we opened our little slips of paper at a given signal (the Trapps said "a" given signal, after all, not which) (what irritates me is that Alison can't even read!) and everybody learned the name of his secret-secret, mind you-Christkindl. This is another uniformly joyful moment in the Trapp family. At this moment in the Heath family, Jim looked up from his slip, glared at John, and groaned. John looked up from his slip, glared at Jim, and made vomiting noises. Priscilla said: "Oh, Mother, do I have to have that pest?"

Buckley said: "Mother, how do you think that makes a poor little boy feel to have everybody in this whole absolute world call him a pest every absolute minute?"

Everybody nudged everybody else. "Jim has John. John has Jim. Priscilla has Buckley," they told each other.

The non-readers came running up to find out who their Christkindlen were. "Pam," I whispered into Betsey's ear.

"Pam," shrieked Betsey.

"Betsey has Pam," everybody told everybody else.

"Tim-Tim, but don't tell," I whispered into Jennifer's ear. She flung her arms around Timothy's head. "Tim-Tim, I know sumpeen. I know sumpeen, Tim-Tim," she roared.

"Jennifer has Timothy," everybody told everybody else. The baby ate her paper again, but it was all right this time: I knew whose name she had eaten. I had arranged for us to draw each other, because we're in love.

A few minutes later they thundered upstairs to homework or bed, and even over the rattling of the window panes I heard the negotiations starting. "Well, then, will you trade Priscilla for Alison and a nickel? For Alison and a dime? For me not hiding your shell collection? For me not hitting you in the stomach as hard as I can?"