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Since
two of my daughters are now in college and one is in high school,
Christmas just "hits different"—as those crazy kids (and my not-so-secret,
sort-of-but-not-really guilty pleasure, Taylor Swift) say these days.
When I was up in the attic just after Thanksgiving, foraging for decorations
and wondering how the ceiling hadn't caved in yet from all of the
future garage sale inventory stored up there, I accidentally opened
a Rubbermaid tub full of Christmas-themed "Little People" toys we
bought for the girls (and me) when they were toddlers. At that moment,
a tsunami of nostalgia swept over me, and I basically played out the
scene from "Christmas Vacation" where Clark Griswold sits trapped
in the attic and gets all weepy while watching some old home movies
he finds. (If only I had a teal turban, a fur stole and some pink
gloves.)
Mixed with that nostalgia was the bittersweet (but mostly bitter)
realization that Christmas is never going to be like it was when the
girls were little and I transformed into a more enthusiastic version
of Buddy the Elf on about November 1 every year.
For example, we've been shocked at how few gifts the girls have asked
for in the past couple of Christmases. I mean, I still have to resist
sending my own parents my Christmas list in triplicate.
Last year, the girls asked for a
trip to New York City—where we got stranded
by the airlines during a Christmas polar blast and froze our big
apples off. This year, instead of traditional gifts, the girls mainly
have asked for money. It's like they've all turned into Sally from
"A Charlie Brown Christmas" when she asks Santa for "tens and twenties."
I, on the other hand, am going to feel like Don Vito Corleone on Christmas
morning, standing by the tree in my Christmas PJs handing over rolled-up
wads of cash.
I even had to decorate the big Christmas tree in our front window
by myself this year. Our older daughters were away at college, my
youngest daughter was busily wasting valuable time with homework and
studying, and my wife was frivolously doing laundry, paying bills,
and keeping our whole household from collapsing. Since I was alone,
I don't think I even bothered putting on pants—until I was almost
done and realized all the blinds were open. (My apologies to the neighbors.)
Speaking of our youngest daughter, she surprised us this year by asking
when (not if) Alfie, our now elderly Elf on the Shelf, was going to
come out. Now, I don't think she still believes in the Christmas "magic"
of Alfie. Instead, she is either just reveling in the childish merriment
of the season, or enjoying our suffering as we feebly try to remember
to help poor old lint-infested Alfie move every night. I think I'll
just tell her he's having mobility issues in his old age.
Despite all of the changes, I'm still going to do my best to enjoy
the Christmas holiday. Whether I'm forcing my daughters to ride in
the car sighing and gawking at their phones while my wife and I look
at Christmas lights, or I'm quoting funny movie lines from "Christmas
Vacation" and "A Christmas Story" until my daughters' eyes roll completely
out of their skulls, I'm determined to have some fun.
And for their sake, I hope the ATM is open on Christmas Eve. |
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