Christmas has always been fun for me, and it was again this year, too. It was great to gather as a family and remember times passed. A warm, happy feeling still swells inside of me when I see Christmas lights, hear Andy Williams, or see A Christmas Carol on television. It's my guess that I will probably forever have some sort of love for the Christmas season, but I must admit now that it's different.
I think most experience it—the excitement of Christmas fades as the years flip by. Or maybe it was a sudden change and Christmas is surprisingly not the same one year. This results from the loss of youth. As we come to know more, the excitement dwindles because it was based on hopes and dreams and wonders about something that was coming. This something was big and bright—everyone talked about it, it was all over the TV. You could almost literally feel Christmas coming. As you get older, though, you realize Santa Claus isn't who you thought he was; that men and their quest for control and profit have bought Christmas into their reins; and that everyone isn't as happy as you might be. By the last point I mean that one realizes that Christmas is isolated—10,000 children will still die in Africa on that day because they had nothing to eat or drink, were murdered, and/or had no heath care. When I was little it seemed like Christmas was everywhere. You know what I mean. Wal-Mart plays "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," the mall invites Santa, the air waves overflow with holly jolly sounds. People seem happier. That's the way it is until you're a little older. Maybe you're sitting in the backseat of your parents' car as your family is driving home from an afternoon of shopping. As you wait for a light to turn green, you see a man in dirty clothes holding a sign. When you realize who that man is and why he's there, a little bit of that special something that makes up childhood is lost. Christmas was the red and green utopia of chocolate. But as you grow, mature, and lose pieces of your childhood, the idea of Christmas being a perfectly happy time slips away.
I still love Christmas time. I still look forward to the multi-colored lights blinking on houses. The music, movies, cartoon specials, food, and all that decked out jazz reclaims my youth each year. And I will always enjoy more than anything the community aspect of Christmas—people seem happier, and I see more of my family.
A major difference is that now I realize that not everyone is happy just because it's December, and even a lot of those who seem happy are so because of reasons other than my own. Some look forward to the presents, or time away from work, or a vacation far from home. The solution for me is to find the good in it, avoid or redress things I see as problems, and do my best to hold on to what's left of my childhood. I wish everyone would.
So instead of looking forward to December 25th, I anxiously await the entire month. I don't roll around in my bed on Christmas Eve desperately watching for morning, when I can tear paper and bows—I do so because I will be able to again relive that special day of my youth by eating breakfast with family and remembering things I loved, like my grandmothers, playing video games with my cousins, and laughing and truly being happy.
