2018 School Spending Survey Report
Authors’ Favorite Holiday Memories 2016
Tis' the season for Tom Angleberger, Cece Bell, and Katharine Paterson to reveal their childhood memories.
The year was 1937, long before most readers of this memory were born, but I was already five years old. My father was a Presbyterian missionary, and my family was living in China. In late June, we had gone from our home in the Chinese town of Hwai’an to the mountains of Manchuria for a brief vacation. But right after we arrived, Japan declared war on Manchuria, and the bombs began to fall. We blacked out the windows every night in the summer house where we were staying. It would be impossible for us to return home, as battles were raging between where we were, in the south, and our home to the north. In August, my sister Anne was born, which made us a family of seven. After that, my father decided to try to make the journey back to Hwai’an alone. For a long time, we didn’t know if he was alive or dead. Fall moved into winter, and, miraculously, Daddy came back safely to us. So, at least our Christmas wasn’t filled with the anxiety that the fall months had been. But, nevertheless, it was cold and dreary. We were still stranded far from home, listening night after night, behind blacked out windows, to the roar of enemy bombers flying low over the mountain. Some of the grown-ups decided that something must be done for the sad children of the tiny community. So a party of sorts was arranged, along with the organization of a children’s choir to sing the music of Christmas. I’m sure we practiced all the traditional carols, but the song I will always remember was one that was new to me. I can remember still the thrill that went through my small body whenever we sang it. It still thrills me to sing it. It begins: There’s a song in the air!
There's a star in the sky!
There’s a mother’s deep prayer
And a baby’s low cry.
And the star rains its fire
While the beautiful sing.
For the manger in Bethlehem
Cradles a king.
Instead of the sound of bombers, the song of angels; instead of darkness, the light of a star. I wouldn’t have known when I was five to call the feeling hope, but that was what the music gave me. Many years later, I told this story to my husband. He smiled. “I sang that carol as a child, too,” he said, “because the organist at our church in Connecticut was the composer!”
Tom Angleberger, well-noted for his “Origami Yoda” series, has posted origami Santa instructions on his website for the holidays. The third title in his “Inspector Flytrap” series—The Goat Who Chewed Too Much—will be released in January by Amulet. It happens to be illustrated by his spouse, Cece Bell. She is also the author of the Newbery Honor Book and Eisner Award winner El Deafo (Abrams, 2014) and Rabbit and Robot (Candlewick, 2012), winner of a Geisel Honor. The couple lives in Christianburg, VA. 
Cece and I both come from very creative families, even though our relatives don't usually think of themselves that way. But Christmas has always been the proof of it. Over the years, my mother has made by hand and given away literally thousands of ornaments. Also, when I was a kid, Great Aunt Isabelle would take an annual break from knitting and turn one of my school photos into a Christmas tree ornament. Somehow, Cece's Aunt Annell was inspired at the same time of year as my aunt to make something a little less traditional: the amazing “Bee Girl" ornament. Also, Cece's dad's Christmas tree was always a magnificent Victorian spectacle. 
So, once we had found each other, it was only natural that Cece and I would make our own ornaments for our own tree. I started making origami Santas a long time ago. In fact, it was folding Santa that gave me the confidence to try to invent my own origami Yoda. I've also printed my own origami paper for folding ornaments, like this one featuring none other than Donnie and Marie. 
Cece, meanwhile, is always up to something new. This little Santa is one of many charming ornaments she's made, most of which have gone to live on other people's trees. But the sequined H.R. Pufnstuf was her gift to me, and it isn't going anywhere, except onto our own tree each and every year.
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