How Do You Celebrate Old Christmas — With a Bang or a Whimper?

By RAHN ADAMS

BOONE, N.C. (Jan. 7, 2026) – So, how did you spend Old Christmas yesterday? Did you have a big feast or give someone special a gift? Did you take down your Christmas decorations and stow them away until next Halloween? You should have done that at least.

No? Well, then, did you stay up past midnight on Tuesday to see if your pets would kneel and pray? That’s an Appalachian tradition—staying up late on Old Christmas Eve to hear animals talk. I mean, Balaam’s ass actually speaks in the Bible (Numbers 22:28-30). The mule doesn’t exactly pray, but he does ask why his master is mistreating him. Animals can talk, and they do pray.

We need no proof at our house, because Scout, our little Type-A Manx cat, has a word of prayer with me every blessed morning. She tells me—not Timberley, mind you—in no uncertain terms when it’s time to get up and feed her. Her laid-back brother Jem, an orange tabby, knows to keep his mouth shut—until I open the can of cat food. Then it’s smack, smack, munch, munch.

When Scout says, “Muh-wow,” we know she’s asking for water, and we let her jump up on the bathroom counter for a drink. When she’s perturbed with me for wanting to stay in bed a minute longer, she says, “Raw-run, Raw-run,” and I’m not quite sure if that’s my name or what I need to do to keep her from jumping up on me. But she does—with all four feet—if I don’t rise and shine.

So, anyway, are you telling me that you’ve never heard of Old Christmas? How about Epiphany or Three Kings Day? Ring a bell? They all fall on Jan. 6 every blessed year.

I’d never heard of Old Christmas until December 1981 when I worked as the staff writer at The Valdese News, a now-defunct weekly paper owned by The News Herald (and, boy, was it ever funct; oh, the stories I could tell). Covering a pre-holiday event at Valdese Elementary School, I listened and took pictures as renowned folklorist Richard Chase entertained youngsters with old Appalachian tales and songs. Chase had compiled The Jack Tales and The Grandfather Tales, the two books that were his main claims to fame. He was teaching at Lenoir-Rhyne College then after a long career at other colleges and universities.

Jeez, that was 44 years ago. Almost half a century ago. But I do remember one thing well from my conversation with Mr. Chase away from the kids—nothing profound, nothing life-changing, just his offhand comment about the way my first name is spelled. He wanted to jot down my name and the newspaper I worked for so that he could get a copy of my article when it ran the next week.

“Oh, it’s not Ron,” he said. “It’s Ra-a-h-h-h-n.” One long syllable, not two like what my little girl Scout says every morning when she’s fussing at me.

Hmm. Fussing. I’ll bet that’s how you spent Old Christmas yesterday … on Jan. 6 … on the fifth anniversary of, yeah, THAT Jan. 6, the one that had nothing to do with celebrating the birth of sweet baby Jesus but had everything to do with a jackass who talks too much.

Since gambling on everything has been legalized and is even encouraged these days, I’ll wager that the average person—granted, maybe not you—spent more time yesterday, Jan. 6, perusing divisive or provocative or simply inane social media posts and videos than reading anything of true, lasting value—for the sake of argument, let’s say the Bible, like maybe the stories or parables of the man that sweet baby Jesus grew up to be. Am I right?

So, you ask, what’s your point, Raw-run?

When I talked to Mr. Chase at Valdese Elementary way back in 1981, I asked if he actually celebrated Christmas on Jan. 6 instead of on Dec. 25 like most folks. He said he marked both days, adding that the earlier date was “the Christmas made for man” and the latter date was “the Lord’s Christmas.”

Come to think of it, there were many—too many—signs and flags and banners proclaiming the Lord’s name (and taking it in vain, in my opinion) on Jan. 6, 2021 at the Capitol attack in Washington, D.C.—you know, at the Make America Great Again insurrection. How’s that for an oxymoron?

My main point—especially now, five years later—is that if we still call ourselves Christians, we need to decide who our Lord actually is and act accordingly. Maybe the easy answer is to call ourselves something else. (No, not Balaam’s Asses, but if the horseshoe fits….) How’s that for an epiphany?

As the old song by one of the Baby Boom generation’s major prophets goes, you’re gonna have to serve somebody. So let’s make sure we don’t spend too much of our time and attention serving the wrong person or consuming too much of the wrong kind of tale, even if dancing Donald and his talking mule are entertaining.

All we really do need is love—and, well, some food and muh-wow. It is that simple. Just ask Scout.

Merry Old Christmas, my friend.