The Last Coconut

I sat between the tray of chocolate-covered peanuts and the bowl of homemade Chex mix. Family members filled plates sparsely for their little ones, then returned and overloaded their own. The crowd grew and most of the seats around the dining room were filled. Noise bounced off the walls and wrapped the room in a familial bow. Giggles rose as uncles and grandpas tickled and teased the younger ones.

One of the uncles raised his voice above the noise and gathered everyone’s attention. He read from a book called the Bible, from something called Luke 2. Angels. Shepherds. A star. Mary. Joseph. The promised Messiah. Jesus. Born in a stable. To redeem the world. I listened intently, when suddenly, one of the uncles picked me up.

A Special Perspective

There aren’t many coconuts who find a home at Christmas time, so I felt honored to be chosen for this family’s special tradition, even though I wasn’t quite ripe yet. Carefully, the uncle separated me into small pieces and a new scattered version of myself fell onto a paper plate. My plate of pieces was passed from person to person, beginning with the tiniest family member, all the way to the oldest.

Even though I was to be eaten, many of the younger ones nibbled and spit me out. Others popped the piece into their mouth and spit me out when no one was looking. Some shoved me into their dark pockets or even dropped me on the floor. Only the older ones actually ate their piece, and even then, they realized I wasn’t ripe enough to be eaten and made faces as they chewed.

When someone picked a piece and took a bite, they sang the first few words of a Christmas song, then the rest of the room chimed in. If only all coconuts were this fortunate. Laughter. Joy. Singing. Clapping. After going around the entire room, the oldest gentleman in the house chose a piece to eat, then stretched out one of his arms, belting out the words, “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.” The others joined in and sang, but I got the feeling this song was special. And that the man singing it was special too.

Just a Spectator

My plate of pieces sat on the edge of the counter, and I watched as presents were dispersed. Every person received two gifts, one from the person who drew their name, and one from the white Christmas singer and his wife. They appeared to be the stars of the show even though they stayed in the background.

As I watched, I noticed the pride in their eyes. Everyone in the room was connected to them in some capacity, through blood, marriage, or friendship. This couple was the life source to the older uncles and aunts, who were then the life source to their children and on and on. A true family Christmas celebration and I got to be a part.

Toys rolled across the floor followed by shouts of glee. Presents were displayed to others and thanks given. Bags were saved for the matriarch of the family while torn ribbons and wrapping paper found a new home in trash bags. Smaller groups of people talking scattered through the house. Cameras flashed and hugs filled the space.

The crowd slowly disappeared, one by one. The trays of food, covered by lids or foil were picked up and carried away. The grandmother and grandfather helped each other out of their seats and hugged the necks of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I listened to conversations filled with promises to visit soon and bring other members who were unable to attend. Lights flickered through the blinds as car motors revved and pulled away. I crashed down into a dark space, my job complete. It was over.

What If?

Something nagged me. What if this was the last one? The last regular Christmas? What if there would never be another gathering exactly like this one? Would the hugs have been a little longer? The gifts been less important? Would there have been more songs? A video of the whole event? Would family have lingered a bit longer? Would having me, the coconut, even matter?

As I rested at the bottom of the dark trash bag, I wanted time to rewind. If coconuts could scream, I would have exercised my lungs and called back the people who left things unsaid. The families who snuck out without goodbyes. The kids who gave half-hearted hugs. The ones who carried hurt on their shoulders. I would have bonked them on the head with my hard shell and pounded into them the importance of treating every gathering as if it were the last. If only I had known. If only they had known.

I was the last coconut.

(For another Christmas reminder, check out https://inspireafire.com/christmas-from-dread-to-joy/)

Copyright: Christy Bass Adams, December 2024

Christy Bass Adams

Christy Bass Adams, is the Outreach and Connections Coordinator at Fellowship Baptist Church in Madison, Florida. She is also a writer and had her first devotional book published in summer of 2022 (Big Lessons from Little People) followed by a middle grades novel (Imagination Checkers) in the fall. Her most important role, however, is with her family as a wife of 18 years and mother to two busy boys. She worked in education for over 18 years at both the elementary and collegiate levels. Her favorite pastimes are fishing and sitting around a fire. For more from Christy, visit her blog at christybassadams.com.

More Posts - Website

4 comments

  1. “I would have bonked them on the head” – definitely one of my favorite lines.

    Love while you can.

Comments are closed.