Christmas Past and Present

Its Christmas again. Only a few more days to go. The oldest is home from college. Everyone is out of school or off work. There is the sound of a full house, the aroma of coffee and baked goods filling the rooms. Its past bedtime now and quiet has settled over everything. I’m sitting up in our living room with all the lights off save those of the Christmas tree. It lights the room in a warm glow bouncing and twinkling off ornaments in the shape of stars, crosses, little red and gold balls, homemade hand prints of my children, angels, a Georgia Bulldog mascot wearing a Santa hat, and even one in the form of a Mayberry Sheriff’s badge.

               Every Christmas is special for different reasons. Family, friends, children, food, all add to the festivity of the season. I think about the Christmases we’ve shared in this room with our children, decorating the tree, setting out cookies and milk for Santa, watching them open their presents. Perhaps no Christmas in our house could be topped by my oldest daughter’s 5^th Christmas on which Santa delivered a miniature dachshund puppy. I remember seeing the pure joy on her face and thinking to myself — “I’m sure she’ll have many happy moments but I don’t know that she will ever experience as much pure happiness as she is enjoying right now.”

               I am of the age that my Christmas gatherings are void of many of the people with which I shared them long ago. The times and indeed my life have changed as they do for everyone. Though I am thankful for where I am in life and for the loved ones around me, Christmas always leads me to harken back to my childhood. As special as Christmas is, in and of itself, the golden Christmases of our childhoods are the most magical of all.

               It began every year with the arrival of the Sears Christmas Wishbook. Every child at least into the mid 80’s wore the print from the Wishbook pages, dreaming of the fun to be had. It was full of action figures—The Super Friends, The Six Million Dollar Man, G.I. Joe, Stretch Armstrong, Evel Knievel, and that holy grail of the late 70’s, the Kenner Star Wars figures, playsets, and spaceships. There were Roger Staubach and Steve Bartkowski jerseys made of some blend of nylon and cotton with ¾ length sleeves. Bean bags, sleeping bags, pajamas, and watches adorned with your favorite team’s logo or your favorite super hero or Star Wars characters. Those vibrating metal football fields with the little figures of players that moved around at random. It was sensory overload. I was a blessed child in that many of those wishes came true for me on Christmas mornings. I can now see that it was not the gifts themselves but the anticipation of Christmas that made it so special.

               Christmas seemed a bit more pure in those times. The season itself was more of a grand event-and not in the dirty, hyper-commercial way it is now. Everything about the season felt closer at hand, more real, more tactile. I noticed the town Christmas decorations more. Those colorful candles, snowmen, stockings, and Christmas trees that small towns attach to the lamp posts lining the streets. The local radio stations played real Christmas music—-the classics of Nat King Cole, Bing Crosby, Burl Ives, and Alvin & The Chipmunks. The time from Thanksgiving to Christmas seemed to last an eternity, but in a good way. And then all too soon, it was over.

               Christmas specials weren’t streamed or on-demand or run on one of 500 TV channels. Those “Animagic” or stop-motion animation specials—Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Santa Claus is Coming to Town, The Year Without Santa Claus, as well as the traditional cartoons featuring Jimmy Durante narrating the story of Frosty the Snowman, or the Charlie Brown Christmas special. They were all appointment television for kids. If you missed them you had to wait a whole year to see them again.

               Christmas is a lot of things, some of which persist. It’s the solemn, candlelight service on Christmas eve when the whole church sanctuary is full of music and soft, flickering splendor. Its sausage balls, orange rolls, and cinnamon rolls after the opening of presents. It’s the old nativity scene on the coffee table. The one decorated with moss on the roof of the stable to make it look old and dingy. It’s the quiet of Christmas Eve. The kind of quiet through which it seems you can almost hear the shimmer of stars in the clear cold night sky. A night when all is silent and still. Even the animals seem to revere the quiet. As one passes houses on the road, there are driveways full of cars. There is nothing outside to disturb the peace. Through the glowing windows you can feel the joy and warmth and laughter inside. You can see the lights of the tree glimmering through the window.

               As joyous as Christmas is, there remains a void in it when there are loved ones missing. Not a sadness or melancholy necessarily, but a tangible absence that becomes heightened this time of year. It must be acknowledged that there are those who have never known anything but this absence and for them this is an especially hard time. There are children who have never known the joy of opening presents on a Christmas morning. And some, though they have loved ones, are not able to join with them for one reason or another. Therefore, if you have three or four family Christmas gatherings to attend this year, don’t grumble. Be thankful. The recliner, the television, the woods, or wherever else you would be spending your time, will be there when it’s over. Take some time and enjoy watching little children open their gifts.

               As I look upon the tree and the manger scene on the coffee table, I wonder what those old wise men bearing gifts would have to say about all this. I think they would say that while I may no longer have some of my loved ones physically present, we no longer regularly have the big family gatherings, and the golden Christmases of childhood are long gone, I have all that I need in the loved ones around me now, the life I’ve been given, and most of all, in the one true meaning of Christmas lying before them in the manger.