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Every year it seems that the Christmas holiday changes. Sure the warm and fuzzies are still there, but not for as long as they once were. Maybe it’s the way that the world is changing, or maybe it’s the way that I’m aging, but short of Christmas eve and morning, the joy that I once felt is not as intense as it once was.
When I was a kid there was nothing more exciting then when the calendar page for November was turned exposing that glorious month of December. The countdown began and with each passing day that anticipation intensified. Being one of those families that believed in opening their presents on Christmas morning instead of Christmas Eve, as Tom Petty said, the waiting is the hardest part.
Going to bed on Christmas Eve was one of the toughest things I ever had to do in my youth. It was my first experience with insomnia and having to force myself to go to sleep. Pleasure, pain, anticipation, and anxiety have never been so evenly mixed or so intense as they were in those years between five and eleven and the minutes between bedtime and my eventual sleep from exhaustion.
Was Santa going to bring me what I asked for? Was my stocking going to be filled with the oft times threatened coal? What kind of surprises lay behind the wrapped packages that had taunted me for weeks under the branches of my parents’ perfectly trimmed tree? Then there was the truly unknown of the contents of the presents from my globe trotting grandparents “B” and “Papa.” The best you could figure was what part of the world they had visited last, because that would be the origin of the gift. What it would be was always a mystery, sometimes even after opening the package.
All of these questions swirled in my mind and fueled my dreams until my eyes popped open in the early morning, usually before daybreak. I would usually be the one to run the first round of reconnaissance to make sure Santa had come. Once I had confirmation, I would alert the troops, my two sisters, Sue and Jill, and together we would force my parents to put the morning into motion.
Those days soon gave way to all of us liking to sleep more than celebrate before dawn. The feeling still held true, it just happened a little later each year. That was until my parents started pushing it back the other way. The way my sisters and I were going, we wouldn’t be starting Christmas morning until noon.
As time progressed, and I had kids of my own, the old feelings started to come back as I tried to duplicate the magic my parents had given to me. I tried to follow the same recipe that had worked so well for them for so many years. So for the last fourteen years I have played my father’s role of leaving the telltale signs of Santa’s having been there. Like the eating of the cookies and the drinking of the milk left for him by the kids, not a bad gig if you can get it. I even went so far as leaving “Santa’s” footprints on the fireplace hearth.
Now that my kids have rounded the corner, and Santa is taken as seriously as a cartoon, I feel as though I have lost the Christmas buzz once again. It is kind of a bitter pill to swallow even with a chaser of eggnog. What was once lost and then found, is now lost again, even though I am not ready to throw in the towel. I will continue to present my little Christmas play until my kids tell me to stop.
I don’t know about you and your approach to the fantasy aspect of Christmas, but it will always be one of my favorite lasting memories until the day I die. If I was still a parent of kids who were currently in the “believing ages” I would be concerned. You see, there is a movie that is currently running in theatres called “Bad Santa,” which I have not yet seen, but which I would be a little pissed off about based on their commercials.
To me, as an adult, at least in dog years, I think the movie looks very funny and I laugh hysterically every time I see it. But if I was a parent still clinging to the myth of Santa for my kids’ sake, I wouldn’t appreciate my kids seeing Santa or even a Santa’s helper being shown as a drunken, belligerent, sex fiend.
It may be funny for me now, but I can’t help thinking back to when I fought off any attacks on Santa’s character and how pissed off I would be if my kid, at six years old, saw that commercial while eating his cereal in the morning before school. The people who are in charge of marketing this movie need to be more concerned with when they show the ads as opposed to the bottom line profits that the movie brings in.
The time to make and nurture our kids’ memories is short. We all need to do what we can to not limit it even more, especially for box office receipts.
The Shrub Speaks: Some of the other members of the [NASCAR champion] crew are here, as well. Where are they, Robbie? Where are the members of your crew? Well, they musta couldn't pass the security check. White House, Dec. 2, 2003.
B.D.’s Response: How many times must I ask? How did we end up with Dubya as the Prez of the US with his horrible use of the English language?
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