Christmas in Kansas City, for my family, begins the day after Thanksgiving. My parents rise early on Black Friday, not to beat the crowds to the department stores and malls, but to select the perfect tree for our living room. The sun is just breaking the grey morning sky when they return home with their prize. When I hear them enter, I jump out of bed and run to the large, grey radio in the kitchen. Within a few minutes, to Mom’s and my delight and my brother’s groaning, Christmas music fills the house.
As soon as we are dressed, my sister Crystal and I climb up a rickety ladder to the sweltering attic to pull Hallmark boxes full of ornaments and decorations into the living room. We untangle strands of white, blue, and red lights, select ornaments, and decorate the tree. By lunch, the tree stands by the front window, displaying it’s Christmas glory to the neighborhood. After lunch, Dad accompanies Craig, Jarid, and I to the attic to find the lights for the house. Mom hears thumps and laughter float through the ceiling as the four of us string the house with lights. Within a couple hours, a bead of white lights ices the house.
When I leave for school a few days later, I leave knowing that Christmas has come to Kansas City.
When I return home for Christmas break in mid-December, Kansas City greets me with snow and the twinkle of millions of lights. Sometime in the first week home, Mom and I drive around the city just to see all the lights on the houses. From the poor district where I grew up to the ritzy houses downtown, all of Kansas City celebrates the season with lights. Reds, greens, blues, and whites ice the eaves of the houses. Some race around the structure, others twinkle on and off, but most emit a steady, constant glow.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas in Kansas City.
The highlight of my Christmas holiday includes a family trip to downtown Kansas City and the Country Club Plaza. The Hallmark complex, located in the center of downtown, hosts a myriad of holiday family activities: ice skating, shopping, fine dining, and theatres. The grey December sky contrasts the illumination of the Mayor’s Christmas tree, our first stop. My family and I stand bundled beneath a 40-foot tree, gazing up at the slightly twisted pine strung with wooden ornaments and white lights. Eight-foot Nutcrackers guard the tree and the children play on a large train that surrounds the base. Bare trees iced with lights line the sidewalk up to the outdoor ice rink where a hundred people laugh as they skate in circles. The crowds thicken as we leave the biting winds and enter Crown Center.
The doors of Crown Center open to a large food court where a community high school or church choir sings Christmas carols. Mom and I hum along as we listen. My family wanders from store to store with no goal in mind except the annual visit to the train store. Crown Center and the Hallmark complex are connected by a little hallway that houses a train store. I remember visiting the train store every Christmas since I was five. Christmas would not be complete without watching the trains race around little villages and through tree-covered mountains.
As much as I love the lights and buzz of Crown Center, nothing compares to the Plaza lights. As Dad drives us a few blocks south of downtown, we are transported to Old World Spain. Buildings mimicking Sevilla, Spain, rise on both sides and the streets are lined with cars from around the world. Dad maneuvers the car between people, cars, and horse-pulled carriages to find a parking spot on the upper level of a parking deck. Christmas greets us as we step up to the snow-covered railing under the sky. Christmas music spills from every store and the sidewalks buzz with patrons as they shop for the perfect gift. The sharp clip-clop of horse hooves on the pavement sounds natural and drowns out the blaring car horns.
It’s Christmas in Kansas City.
Christmas is more than the sounds of Christmas music, laughter, and horses. As I step out of the car, I silence the noise around me and around. The real Christmas beauty isn’t captured by sound but by sight. Dad and I look down the street, not at the people, but at the lights. Thousands of Christmas lights outline the Plaza’s Spanish architecture against the black December sky. For a few minutes, the world disappears--it’s just Dad and me standing by the railing looking at the stars and Christmas lights.
As we drive home, Karen Carpenter’s smooth alto fills the car, “Oh, there’s no place like home for the holidays.” I have to agree. For me, nothing is better than Kansas City’s light.
It’s Christmas in Kansas City.
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