By Lisa M. Belisle
Originally published December 27, 1995, Portland Press Herald

Holiday traditions vary among families. Some light a menorah, others an Advent wreath. Some begin the festivities before Thanksgiving, stringing their rooftops with miles of twinkling bulbs. 

Our family’s most significant ritual was such an important part of my childhood that when asked to write an admissions essay for college, I chose to write about it. I am speaking, of course, of taking the Christmas card picture.

Christmas picture-taking was never a straightforward venture in our home. Anyone who has ever attempted this is familiar with the problems inherent with photographing children. A 2-year-old has very little interest in dressing up and sitting still, never mind smiling for the camera. A 10-year-old may be agreeable enough, but has a hard time finding pants that reach to his ankles, match a given shirt, or have recently seen the the inside of a washing machine.

Each of us took a turn at being uncooperative over the years. This would have been manageable for our parents, except:

1. We frequently took turns simultaneously, rather than sequentially.
2. Our turns spanned the course of multiple years.
3. There were 10 of us.

Because only the bravest among us would accept a dare of that magnitude, I often felt that my parents were candidates for sainthood (or seriously deluded).

That my sainted parents persisted in their yearly quest for photographic yuletide greetings is a tribute to their patience and endurance. It also made for interesting pictures.

One famous Belisle card shows the sixth child standing at rigid attention, an abnormally bright (for him) smile gracing his little red face. What it does not show is the hand of our beloved mother, firmly grasping his collar as she hides behind the couch, in an effort to keep him from escaping.

She had spent half an hour chasing him around the suburban neighborhood, to the immense disgust of his older sisters (and amusement of the neighbors). His flushed cheeks are due less to the excitement of the season than to the effort required for 5-year-old legs to remain one step ahead of a furious mom; his smile served to ward off further retribution on the part of his siblings. Fortunately for us, this performance was not to be repeated in future years.

We are now a little older, a little wiser, and have frankly lost hope of ever escaping. Finding pants to fit the 10-year-old is minor compared to arranging a visit from a sister living in Texas.

Problems or no, we have yet to fail to obtain a Christmas picture, and that seems to have become a point of pride. This year’s picture is beautiful. Fourteen (with my husband and son) neatly dressed, smiling individuals gather around the family pooch.

Our smiles are genuine: we feel blessed simply to be together. In the past year, our extended family has endured the premature birth and death of a baby, a death from metastatic lung cancer, the sudden deaths of two relatively young family friends, a cardiac bypass, a new diagnosis of previously undetected lung cancer, and the diagnosis and surgical treatment of a problem pregnancy. We have been under siege, but we have survived to get our Christmas picture taken. It is a cause for celebration.

We touch my belly, burgeoning with eight months of pregnancy, and look forward to adding another face to the card. Most of all, we give great thanks that the sixth child no longer finds it necessary to attempt to elude his poor, tired mother.