LETTING CHRISTMAS COME TO ME

When did I come to believe that I must “go out and get” Christmas?

Christmas simply comes to a child.

My childhood recollections of Christmas always start with the waiting, as if forever, for Christmas Day to come. The waiting officially started at our house with the delivery of the Sears Christmas Catalog. It always arrived in its singular plain brown paper sleeve, a special precaution to prevent any catastrophic damage to the shinny red eye-catching toy-laden cover. The four little hands of my brother and I worked from airport sets to army men; bicycles to fire trucks; and chemistry sets to microscopes. Each item considered for priority & order, inclusive of page number, just in case. That poor cover was thoroughly tattered and torn by the arrival of Christmas morn, and Santa’s list complete.

A child’s waiting is full of curiosity. The boxes of Christmas ornaments, their delicate little marvels found new each season. Dad’s ordered routines of tree, tinsel, lights, topper, never disrupted by patient answers to questions ask in awe & wonder, dancing on tittering tongues. “How many days left?” “Is Dad going to put up the lights now?” “When will we get the tree?” “How will Santa know what we want?” “How will he know where we live?” “How will he know how good I’ve been?” “How will he get down the chimney if we light a fire?” “Will I still get my presents if little brother Jimmy is bad?” So many answers accepted with faith & hope.

I don’t remember anxiety or dread, apprehension or doubt that Christmas questions now days bring?

Christmas is a time of gathering for the child: Relatives from close & far; Uncomfortable hugs & intolerable kisses. The wonderful smells of the Christmas feast: Food, plentiful & comforting; familiar & strange. “When is Grandma coming over?” “When will Elaine & Kathy be here?” “Now you two play with Ginger & David too!” the younger “kid cousins”, not so much to be anticipated, but tolerated. “Can we eat at our own table?” “Well, only if you’ll be good.” Well, of course, Mom. Who wants to sit at the boring “big table” with all of Mom’s fancy breakable dishes and all of Dad’s “you’re going to get it now” looks. But I know they really missed us! I know because Mom just couldn’t resist popping her head in as not to miss all the real fun.

Our gatherings, nowadays, seem to bring nostalgic joy, but leave with poignant melancholy? Cherished memories grown perfect with the tinted patina of time can cast a warm glow, or, just as easily, a chilling shadow.

And so my turn came to prepare the perfect Christmas memories for the ones I love. Now, as a father myself, I took on the responsibility of “going out to get” Christmas for everyone on my list. No more waiting on Christmas to come to me. No time for foolish acceptance with faith or hope.

I never found the perfect Christmas for the ones I love. Now I understand that all my chasing merely chased it away.

This year, I promised myself I would let Christmas come to me. With a few exceptions, I was able again enjoy the waiting & the wonder.

This year I didn’t have the Christmas I planned. Those I love didn’t get a perfect Christmas memory from me. But we all received the Christmas that was given. And considering the real Giver, that is good enough indeed.

SW