Abbey's Road: A Song for the Season

Somehow through recent decades, Christmas caroling has eked by on the list of Things that are Completely Culturally Abnormal and Yet Survive — like trick-or-treating (“Come on, kids! Go up to a stranger’s house and ask for candy!”) and door-to-door sales.

Can we think about caroling in the abstract for a minute? Basically it’s a horde of strangers, knocking on a person’s door (often at night) and forcing them to listen while they sing a Christmas song. Honestly, can it get any weirder?

Generally speaking, there are not “tryouts” for caroling; whoever shows up is who you get: Stephanie the Used Car Saleswoman who smokes a pack a day; Bob the I.T. Guy who shockingly knows the harmonies to every single song; Little Sophia who is either nailing that high C or throwing a tantrum, no one can tell.

Put them together and you’re left with a colorful arrangement of well-meaning participants who have wildly different internal metronomes but are equally determined to get the job done.

At the very least, there’s some awkwardness involved (forces the Door Answerer to listen, whether they want to or not; if they choose not to, they’ll look like a jerk; if they do listen, they’ll have to smile or they’ll look like a jerk. What if they’re in the middle of an argument? What if they were enjoying their evening soap? What if their cousin from South Africa is calling in two minutes and if they miss it they’ll be forfeiting the family inheritance? Doesn’t matter, they’re a captive audience.).

At most, it’s an invasion of privacy.

Yet, though rare and verging on extinction, caroling remains.

And I am pleased to report that, as of last week, I have participated.

A group of folks from our church arranged an hour of caroling at a local independent living community, and I’m going to admit I dragged my feet a little bit.

I’d been fighting a sinus infection for almost two weeks, resulting in the recurring mispronunciation of various consonants (“Berry Christbas!”) and dropping from alto to bass; to be honest, I was more in the mood to take a nap than sing to strangers.

“I’m not feeling very ‘sing-y,’” I said to Mr. Roy an hour before we were supposed to leave on Caroling Night.

“Well, you can stay here and I’ll take the girls,” he graciously replied, since he is That Guy.

“No, that sounds Scrooge-y,” I said. “I’ll come, I just won’t sing.”

Let me tell you guys something: When we gathered on the sidewalk across from that first lady’s house, and she opened the door, and the kids were smiling, and her TV was reflecting on the window in the background, and the Spirit of Christmas was in the air — how could I not sing?

And when she started singing along with us, I might have cried a little.

My voice wasn’t great. Sometimes I’d stop singing and just mouth the words while I listened to everyone else, and I heard the greatest thing: Not a professional choir warming up in four-part harmony or a group of trained musicians serenading an unsuspecting resident. Just a patchwork gang of normal people stepping out of their comfort zones to wish a merry Christmas to folks who needed to hear it — and it was perfect.

That first lady told us we “made her Christmas.”

Several of the recipients of our glad tidings stood on their front porches and sang along, and only a couple closed their doors before we finished. (I’m sure their family inheritance was at stake, or maybe bathroom emergencies?) The majority, it seemed, were thankful for a surprise display of cheer that cost us nothing except an hour of time and, for me, a change of heart.

If I’m being honest and a little pessimistic, I don’t see Christmas caroling existing a few decades into the future. For whatever reason, it’s not as socially acceptable as it once was to knock on a stranger’s door and sing a song of good cheer.

Maybe you can find that kind of thing on YouTube anymore, I don’t know.

But I guess that’s why I’m so glad we went. Because when I heard my three kids and their friends singing their hearts out for a bunch of strangers, I was reminded that it is our responsibility to impart hope to the next generation. Maybe if we won’t be ambitious or brave enough to keep the traditions going — at least they will.

Or might, if we give them the chance.

I haven’t been Christmas caroling since I was a teenager, but I’m thankful that I decided to go that night. Because I needed a reminder that Christmas is a lot bigger than How I’m Feeling; it’s bringing light to someone’s darkness.

I think we’ll go again next year.

Abbey Roy is a mom of three girls who make every day an adventure. She writes to maintain her sanity. You can probably reach her at amroy@nncogannett.com, but responses are structured around bedtimes and weekends.

This article originally appeared on Newark Advocate: Caroling brings hope to listeners, singers during the holidays