This is my last blog post before Christmas. Feels like I should write about that. I suppose I could consider my just-concluded series on “Immanuel” an extended Christmas post, especially considering the photo I chose for it, but I feel like writing more directly about the holiday. So here goes.
Aging changes your perspective on things, and Christmas is no exception.
When I was a kid, Christmas was all about the anticipation: What am I gonna get for Christmas? In those days my family was relatively poor. That’s not quite the right word; we had a place to live, and food to eat, and clothes to wear. But we didn’t have what you might call high liquidity, so not much discretionary income. At Christmas each of us kids would get one present. (I remember one Christmas—I guess I was about 8—when I got a football and a helmet, and I could scarcely contain myself.)
Eventually I realized that I should give gifts as well as receive them. I picked a book off our bookshelf and wrapped it up for my Mom. She was highly amused, especially since it was a book she had owned since the 1940s.
And yes, eventually I decided to buy gifts rather than just scrounge them from around the house.
But now I think differently, in ways that most people my age do.
When loved ones ask me what I want for Christmas, I usually can’t think of anything. I have all I need, and a lot of things I don’t need. These days I’m trying to get rid of stuff. I’ve even tried offering my books to my students, and I find that hardly anybody uses books anymore; they use electronic, and so do I. (I love the fact that when I teach overseas, I can take my entire electronic library—thousands of titles—on my laptop, which fits comfortably under the seat in front of me. And I also love the fact that I can make the type bigger. And that I can search my ebooks electronically. And I like lots of other stuff about them.)
Anybody want some books? I’m serious.
Um, back to Christmas gifts.
If something I have breaks—most recently, my espresso maker—I can just get a new one; no need to wait for Christmas. And just for the record, I don’t wear ties anymore, so don’t even.
I find it’s not about the presents anymore, and it hasn’t been for a long time.
What is it for me?
It’s family. All of us together, enjoying the experience. Feasting together. Telling stories. Reminiscing. Opening presents, sure, but the joy I get is more from watching them open theirs.
Recently I’ve noticed that I’m also enjoying the season more. Christmas music—the sacred kind—is meaning more to me than it used to. I find the secular stuff mostly just irritating; I have no desire to rock around the Christmas tree, and I wouldn’t recognize Mariah Carey’s voice if I heard it. Though, come to think of it, I can still dream about a white Christmas, though of course it’ll never happen here in the upstate of South Carolina. And the occasional silver bell is okay too.
Another nice feature of the season is the lights and decorations. The neighborhoods look good, and I especially like the decorations along the main street in the small southern towns—you know, with the single row of brick storefronts and the railroad tracks just across the street. Banners from the light posts and strings of lights crisscrossing the street, just high enough for the trucks to get under.
Calm. Contentment. Joy. Peace.
Merry Christmas.
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