Somewhere along the way, Christmas turned a corner. Actually, now that I think about it, I guess it has turned several corners in my lifetime, but I never really noticed before now.
The “original” Christmas was the holiday of my childhood. Santa Claus was real, snow was magical and reindeer really could fly. I was fascinated by those aluminum trees illuminated with the color wheel as the sparkling branches glowed from red to blue to green. The anticipation increased each day until it seemed I would not be able to contain the excitement a moment longer … and Christmas Eve seemed unbearably slow, with sleep an impossibility. And yet I did sleep, and although I don’t remember dreams of sugarplums (probably because I didn’t know what those are), I do remember leaping from bed the next morning and racing into the living room to tear open the packages whose tags bore my name, oblivious to the fact that the handwriting was strangely familiar.
In stark contrast to the slow pace of Christmas Day’s arrival in those early years, it seemed the years themselves flew by, and soon I was a young mother myself, hoping my own children didn’t recognize the handwriting on their gift tags.
Those were the years when shopping meant endless journeys up and down the toy aisle, searching for the hoped-for doll or action figure. I remember smiling to myself as I wrapped packages of socks and underwear, knowing full well they would be tossed aside with barely disguised disgust as my children reached for their next toy-shaped package.
Then there came the season of transition, when my own children became young adults and were venturing out on their own. Shopping was easier now than it had been during the teen years, when “money” and “gift cards” were the only items on their wish lists. Now that they were setting up their own homes, they needed everything from dishes to furniture to linens; I could almost have just walked into any housewares department blindfolded, picked something up at random, and it would have been something they needed.
But then there came the “plateau years.” By now, everyone was established. They had everything they needed and a lot of stuff they didn’t. We were drifting back into the sad tradition of exchanging gift cards and cash when along came the most wondrous of Christmas miracles:
Grandchildren.
Oh, the joy, oh the delight, oh the blessing of seeing Christmas through their innocent, wondering eyes!
All the best memories from my own childhood came to life once again. All the cherished traditions of my children’s younger days were revived.
Santa Claus was real and not an old guy with a fake beard at the mall. Snow was magical and not a pain in the wazoo to shovel and plow.
And I am sure I caught a glimpse of a reindeer flying through the night sky …
… illuminated by a Star that has shined brightly, steadily through the years.