Christmas Past and Present

When I was quite young my older brother called Santa Claus for me, and had me talk to him. It was a magical moment. That's how I like to think of Christmas, magical. I want my son to feel that magic, himself, but I don't want to make quite the spectacle of it. He believes in Santa, of course, but I tell him that mom and dad have to help because there's just too many kids in the world today for him to get to all by himself. I think I have a fear of some mean kid telling him that there's no Santa, and then he catches us putting presents under the tree. That would just be a big bummer. I don't think anyone ever actually told me. In fact, I still believe, even if I am the one filling the stockings in the middle of the night.

My parents always dig Christmas in a BIG way. We'd have presents from each other on Christmas Eve, then Christmas morning we would wake up to a massive array of gifts under the tree, and overflowing stockings. My goodness, the excitement that filled that room! We, of course, put out cookies and milk for Santa the night before too. We would tear into the stockings, but would have to do a big yummy breakfast before getting to the packages under the tree. We would each take turns when it finally came time to open them. Mom liked to drag our Christmas out as long as possible, because once the last Santa Claus wrapping hit the floor, Christmas was over. Well, until we went to Granny's house. Then, of course, it started again.

I can't do BIG Christmases for my son, and any future children (god willing), but I do keep to my mom's tradition somewhat. We have one present on Christmas Eve (Kyle actually gets more from his grandparents who go to Florida every winter), and Kyle puts cookies and milk or eggnog out for Santa. The next morning, we do stockings, then breakfast, then presents under the tree. This year, we'll be heading to Memaw's after we finish. I still wake up before everyone else, just like I've always done. I still get excited and overjoyed at seeing all of the presents under the tree. These days, however, I thrill at the joy on my son's face when he comes into the room. Glorious, glorious Christmas!