The Neighbourhood Christmas Tradition

Here I am in 40°C heat on a Sunday afternoon, clumsy Laura with a ladder under my arm, looking up at the roof thinking, is this really worth it?

How many Christmas movies have I seen where someone falls off their roof while putting up Christmas lights? At least they’re usually in the snow, so they don’t have heatstroke to contend with as well.

No, I must do this.

I’ve been here since January and I haven’t made friends with any of the neighbours. Whenever I’ve passed anyone on the street, our small talk always revolves around how important it is to keep up the tradition of the Christmas lights. Maybe if I do this, they’ll start to accept me finally.

With a sigh, I place my ladder against the exterior wall and start climbing.

They take their Christmas lights very seriously around here. Every house in the cul-de-sac is required to go all out. People from all different suburbs come to see the lights on our street every year. I’ve been told it has become an annual tradition.

It’s all for a good cause though. Grant, the guy across the road, has a donation box set up on his front yard. All donations go to the Foster Care Christmas Foundation, which provides Christmas gifts to children in foster care.

When Grant mentioned the Christmas lights to me, I laughed at first. I thought surely it was a joke they played on all the new neighbours, just to make them think, what have I got myself into?

Then I saw his face and realised it was no joke.

He’s actually the real estate agent who manages the house I’m renting. I got it for a steal; the rent is surprisingly cheap for the area.

Humming a Christmas tune to myself, I start placing my lights along the roofline.

Suddenly, I get a crawling sensation across my skin. I feel like I’m being watched.

I turn around, just in time to see the curtains in the house across the street swish closed.

Hopefully, Grant will sleep easier tonight now that he’s seen I’m putting my lights up.

After finishing the roof lights, I move on to the garden. By mid-afternoon, my front yard looks like a winter wonderland with candy canes lining the garden beds, Christmas trees up the driveway, and a big “Merry Christmas” sign in the centre.

I retreat to my air-conditioned lounge room to put my feet up for a bit and have a well-deserved Coke.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know, I’m waking to the sound of the doorbell. I open the doorbell app on my phone and see it’s Grant. This is the first time he’s ever come to my house. Not wanting to keep him waiting, I get up and run to the door. I take a deep breath to calm myself before opening it.

“Hi,” I say with a smile.

“Hi, I just came over to say I saw you’ve put your lights up and they look great. Will you be joining us out on the street tonight? It’s tradition for everyone to stand out on their front lawns and talk to the passersby.”

“Oh, uh… okay, sure.”

“Perfect! The guy who lived here before you… he didn’t really like talking to people… anyway, I’ll see you tonight.”

And before I can finish stumbling through my goodbye, he’s already back across the street.

Okay, this really was a big thing. I’d received my first official invitation to attend a street event, so I’ll give it my best.

I spent the rest of the day hiding inside, stressing about making small talk with the people who attended later that night. I’ve never been good at small talk, and quite frankly, I really don’t enjoy it.

When the sun finally set at 7 p.m., everyone’s solar lights started glowing in the evening light. It was time to make my way outside and put on my best fake smile.

As I walked out the front door, the first people were arriving to look at the lights. They were mostly families with young children. It wasn’t quite dark enough yet, but you could see these parents were eager to look at the lights so they could take their kids home to bed and relax for the night.

It turns out that making small talk wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. It was mostly nodding and smiling and saying, “Hello,” or “Thank you,” when I received a compliment on my lights.

After I’d been standing there for about an hour, Mary, my next-door neighbour, sidesteps across her yard towards me.

“How are you finding it all so far?” she asks.

“Yeah, it’s okay, not as awkward as I thought it would be.”

“It gets easier each night.” She pauses for a second and looks around, then she continues, “It’s so good to have a new neighbour. Alan, the guy who lived here before you, didn’t really like our Christmas light events. He participated for a few years, but last year, he said he preferred to keep to himself.”

Mary looks up and sees Grant peering at us from across the street, and she quickly sidesteps back to her position in front of her house.

I look around the cul-de-sac. It feels a bit weird, almost forced, the way everyone is standing to attention on their front lawns.

But it also feels so good to belong.

At 10 p.m., the last people finally leave. I glance across the street and Grant gives me a nod, which feels like permission to go back inside. I look around and see the other neighbours heading in, so I do the same.

I’m so tired from standing on my front lawn for three hours. I’m out like a light as soon as my head hits the pillow.

The next morning, I wake to stiff, sore legs, an embarrassing reminder that I’m unfit and need to exercise more.

I slowly get ready for work and walk out the front door.

As I’m walking down the driveway to my car, another neighbour, Val, who lives next door to me on the other side, walks over.

“How was your first night?” she asks.

“It was good, but my legs are sore now.”

“You get used to it after a few nights.”

“Do you guys really do this every night?”

“Oh, yes, it’s all part of the tradition. We must stand out the front and greet people. That’s how Grant likes it. I remember the day I walked into the real estate to pick up the keys to my place; it was one of the first things he told me.”

“Wait, Grant manages your rental property too?”

“Yes, he manages all the properties on this street. Well, I gotta go. Have a good day,” she says as she ambles back inside her house.

As I’m getting into my car, I wonder if it’s a little odd to have one person living on a street who also manages all the properties on it. He does own the real estate agency down the road though, so maybe it’s not that weird.

I forget all about it and get on with my workday.

I get home at 5 p.m., which gives me just enough time to have a shower and dinner before I need to get back out the front for our nightly ritual.

Everything goes well. I see lots of people across the street putting donations in the box at Grant’s house. Everyone seems to be in great spirits and having fun.

I have a chat with one of the passers-by, an older gentleman, who stops to let me know it’s great to see my house lit up this year.

“I come by every year, and every house is always lit up beautifully, but last year this one wasn’t,” he says as he walks off to the next house.

At 10 p.m., I make my way back inside and off to bed.

As I’m walking towards my front door the next morning, I notice a piece of paper has been slipped under it. I unfold it to discover a handwritten note:

Last night was great, but tonight’s the main event.

I hope you’ll be home.

This is what really brings the street together.

Grant (FY)

Wondering what this could all be about, I get in my car and drive to work.

Something seems a little off, and I’m not sure what “FY” even means. But I have to admit, it still feels great to finally be included in the neighbourhood.

I’m not loving having to stand outside my house for three hours a night, but I guess it’s only for the Christmas season.

You can read part Two, the final chapter of this story, here.