I didn’t enjoy Christmas last year.
Not the way I hoped to. I’m afraid it’s going to happen again this year. Perhaps it’s just a matter of something seeming more beautiful in my mind than it actually can be. Perhaps I’m just a big baby. I remember the first Christmas I felt let down. I’m just 16 years American, proud possessor of my first job, a stock boy at Office Max. I have a tag with my name on it courtesy of the label maker in the computer department. I also carry a box cutter in my apron. I’m too legit to quit. (I still have that name tag and two box cutters. I just saw them yesterday while rummaging through basement debris.)
This particular store I stock used to be a Super Duper grocery store when I was yet able to hold down a job, part-time. Christmastime at Office Max is magical in a way only an office supply chain could be. There’s this display I tend near the checkout lines. It’s filled with holiday themed candy, chocolate and mints. The perfect compliments to those hanging file folders you came in for. My heart beats for the Life Savers Gummies. They come in a commemorative tin. Sometimes they break open and can’t be sold. I love when this happens. So do my fellow stockers. Rich, the manager, doesn’t mind. As long as it’s not premeditated.
I only work a few nights a week but it’s enough to fill my spare time. Time I used to fill with Christmas. I relish sitting near the Christmas tree and just admiring it. I love Christmas trees. Wait, that’s not true. I love our Christmas tree. I always go and get it with Dad. Sometimes my brothers come. A real tree from a real lot. (My parents have a fake one now. I refuse to call it “artificial.”) We bring it in and I help hang the lights with Mom. Placing the ornaments is my favorite part. What have they been up to in the basement all year? “Welcome back guys. Nice to see you again.” Next comes the train at the foot. The sound of those gears and that track is eternal, isn’t it? But I’m 16 now, a working stiff, and it’s not the same. I’m too busy for Christmas. I will look back some day and acknowledge this was part of my childhood ending. I might also understand that this is a lid that, once pried open, is not easily replaced.
This is why I’m concerned about this Christmas. I’m 19 years older but hardly any wiser. Busy doesn’t know what season it is and it doesn’t want to slow down to find out. This isn’t why last Christmas was half-baked. That has to do with expectations. My own of me and of those around me. More specifically my children, now 5 and almost 7. We didn’t change our opinion of what matters but we let our expressions of those values get too big for their Christmas-themed pajamas. When your expressions don’t look like your beliefs you might ask yourself why that is. Watching our children get caught up in the gift tornado deflated my merry little Christmas. Presents catching enough air to allow for the next to be opened before the previous hit the ground. It’s not their fault. They’re children. It’s not our family’s fault either. Their generosity is evident and touching. But the abundance has taught me gratitude can’t be assumed. In fact, it can be frustrated. You probably already learned this lesson. I can be slow.
So we’re going to do some things differently. We’ll let you know how we fair. Don’t worry, Santa’s still coming this year. He’s just coming with a more modest sack and his elves are too.
I declare that I’m going to enjoy Christmas this year. Mostly because I’m choosing to. I’m not going to let the things that could pilfer my peace have their way. I’m going to be present. I’m going to witness my son’s face beam with pride as he hands out the gifts he bought at the Reindeer Shop at school. I’m going to do the same with my daughter. I’m going to hold my wife’s hand at parties. I’m going to burn those images into my retinas. I’ll see them when I close my eyes for the rest of my life. This is my gift to myself. I think it will make a nice gift to my family, too.
While we’re on the topic, what gift might you give yourself?
How about those you love?
You can do it.
Yes, you can.
It’s the season of miracles.
