Christmas past

Christmas as an adult is not as fun as Christmas as a child. Just the fact that you’re not up at 4:30 a.m. with giddy enthusiasm on Christmas morning is evidence enough. Then again, maybe you are (in which case… as the British might say, “Bloody good for you”).

None of this means that Christmas can’t be good, or even down right fun for adults. Even balanced against hauling your kid out of Church (to warn them to behave), hauling your family around town (to hunt and gather for gifts), or hauling yourself out of bed (to plead with your giddy kids to go back to bed at 4:30 a.m.)… Christmas can be a real hoot.

This year I got to see my son rip into some wrapping paper, by himself, for the first time. I got to see my daughter’s face when she finally got that Gameboy game she’s wanted for six months. I got to see the box for Mac OS 10.4 up close. I got to see my wife’s tear streaked face as allergies once again ravaged her body (I meant to put that in the last paragraph, but I forgot).

There was no unbridled joy as I opened my gifts. There was no spoiled rotten despair when I didn’t get exactly what I wanted. In it’s place, there was the warm feeling of knowing I’d helped give my kids what I had when I was as a child… an honest to goodness, kick in the pants Christmas… filled with toys, junk food, and some mid-afternoon down time to sleep it all off.

If it doesn’t get any better than this, it’s fine by me.

Give the gift of words.