Epiphany, old Christmas or Grandpa's birthday

When Christmas and New Year's Day were over, the trimmings all down and we were back to our usual routine, our early household, represented by three generations, still looked forward to another excitement.

On the morning of Jan. 6, Mama, calling from the foot of the stairs, would say, "Get up, kids. It's Epiphany." It always sounded like "Efifany" to me and that's what I called it for many years.

Before we removed ourselves from the warm comfort of the feather mattresses, Grandma would call to us, "Get up. It's Old Christmas." At this we would gather up our clothes to take downstairs to dress by the warmth of the kitchen stove and fireplace. But before we could get to the top of the stairs, Daddy would call, "Get up, Lovies. It's your Grandpa's birthday."

This last announcement brought the full impact of what was in store for us, because the three announcements were all tied together.

Warmed and seated around the big kitchen table, laden with fried ham and eggs, hot biscuits, butter and jelly, we folded our hands reverently and listened to the Wise Man's prayer. The Wise Man was Grandpa. He sat at the end of the table all by himself and looked very much like the Wise Man we had seen on our Sunday school card. He would wear some sort of old headdress -- an old towel wrapped around his head, turban-wise, or some kind of glittering ribbon left over from Christmas.

When all the amens had been said to Grandpa's, er, the Wise Man's prayer we all sat back to hear another tale of the Wise Men's travels.

"Which one are you today, Grandpa?" Lillian asked.

"He's not Caspar," I blurted out, anxious to get into the annual story. I knew, because Grandpa always wore my winter cap when he was Caspar. It had a wool pom-pom on top and it didn't come far down his head. It looked like some sort of crown.

Grandpa looked questioningly at Grandma who came to his rescue.

"He's Melchior," Grandma said. "But remember, the Wise Men are not named in the Bible. Just tradition." We never questioned Grandma's knowledge of the Bible.

I pronounced it to myself, "Milkcore," hoping to remember it by the next time "Efifany," Old Christmas or Grandpa's Birthday came 'round.

"Where are you from?" Daddy asked of our Wise Man. And as we continued to eat breakfast we continued with little bits and pieces of Melchior's, er, Grandpa's imagined trip to Bethlehem.

"I started at Egyptanis and came by way of Mesotopia. Met Caspar in Blackistan. We were surprised to find that we were going the same way, looking for the same thing."

"The star!" I wanted to shout out but felt I had shown off enough.

"Did you change horses along the way?" Lou asked, thinking it about her time to carry the story along.

"Camels, lassie. No, we never changed but rested them a lot."

"What if you had been late?"

There was a sudden silence, while we all pondered this question.

Finally Grandpa raised his fork as if it were some kind of scepter and said, "In the Great Overall Plan it was not planned that way."

There was another silence. This time a very satisfactory silence because it always answered all or "What ifs?" questions.

"Speaking of being late," Melchior said, "I've got to go feed the horses, er, camels." He took off his glittering crown and hung it over the chair post.

"But Grandpa," I protested. "There were three of you! Bald Chazzar."

"Balthasar," Mama corrected.

"He'll be here next birthday," Grandpa promised.

"All in the fullness of time," Grandma said, pushing back her chair. "Now get the coconut and hickory nuts and we'll make a cake for this special three-celebration day."

"Grandpa's Efifany Born Day," I called it. I still call it that, with a little correction in spelling.

REJOICE!

Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.