Blog Post 9: Boxing Day Reflections
Title: “Stories in the Shadows”
The morning after Christmas felt quieter than usual. Snow had dusted the world overnight, muffling the sound of footsteps and adding a sense of stillness. Roman stood at the window, steaming mug in hand, gazing at the frosted trees. Jas and Ivy Mae were still stirring, the house carrying the soft creaks of a day just beginning.
“Do you know why they call it Boxing Day?” Jas asked as they shuffled into the room, still wrapped in their blanket.
Roman chuckled softly. “It’s one of those things we learned in school but never paid much attention to. Something about rich folks giving their servants a box of leftovers or small gifts the day after Christmas.”
Jas wrinkled their nose. “Kind of weird to make a whole holiday about that, isn’t it?”
Ivy Mae joined them, lighting a bundle of sage at the hearth. “It’s more complicated than that,” she said. “It’s a reminder of how societies have always had this divide—those with too much, and those with too little. For some, it was a day of generosity. For others, a symbol of what they didn’t have.”
Roman nodded but didn’t say much. He seemed lost in thought, the way he got when his mind wandered into the shadows of the past. Jas noticed and glanced at Ivy Mae, who gave them a small, knowing nod.
“What about Indigenous traditions?” Jas asked hesitantly. “Did you celebrate anything like Christmas or Boxing Day?”
Roman turned from the window, his eyes somber. “We had our own ways of marking the seasons, of showing gratitude and sharing. But I didn’t grow up with those traditions. By the time I could remember much of anything, I was already gone.”
Jas frowned. “The Sixties Scoop?”
Roman’s voice was quiet. “Yes. Taken from my family. Sent to a white home, far from my culture and language. I grew up celebrating Christmas and Boxing Day like everyone else. By the time I realized what I’d lost, it was already too late.”
Silence hung in the room, heavy and unspoken. Ivy Mae placed a gentle hand on Roman’s shoulder. “But you’ve found ways to reconnect,” she said softly.
Roman gave a small, sad smile. “Bits and pieces,” he admitted. “But there’s so much I’ll never know. Whole traditions lost to time—or to policies that tried to erase us.”
Jas looked at him thoughtfully. “Maybe we could make our own traditions,” they suggested. “Take what we know and what we’re learning and build something new.”
Roman’s smile grew, the sadness softening around the edges. “I like that idea, kid,” he said. “Maybe that’s what we’ve always done—carried forward what we could and filled in the gaps with what we imagined.”
They spent the rest of the morning talking about traditions—old and new. Ivy Mae shared stories of her childhood Boxing Days, and Roman, despite himself, began to recall little fragments of his heritage: songs he thought he’d forgotten, the smell of cedar, and the teachings his grandmother used to whisper before the world changed.
By the time the day had faded into evening, the house felt warmer, not just from the fire but from the stories they’d shared.
“Maybe tomorrow we’ll start something new,” Jas said with a grin.
Roman raised his mug in a toast. “Here’s to that.”