‘Twas the season

Growing up, the lure of all those mysterious presents under the tree made me the sort of kid who got up at 5:00 a.m. on Christmas morning.  My poor little brain just couldn’t handle the excitement.  For those who know me as cool-as-a-cucumber, this may come as a surprise, but it won’t be for those who know me as an overgrown child.

With the exception of the one Christmas I spent working in a hotel in the Swiss Alps, this was the only year I spent away from my parents, but that year in Switzerland remains the only one I’ve spent away from family.  I know, I know - it’s tough to deal with for the loved ones who weren’t woken up absurdly early.  But rest assured I’ll always remember Christmas morning as a child.

I remember the huge fir trees we decorated in our basement, and trying to find my presents in my Dad’s office.  I never did find my Mom’s secret stash.  I remember the vain efforts my parents made to try to get me to sleep in on Christmas morning – keeping me up late, having everyone open a present the night before.  They never worked.  At least I was always allowed to wake up my sister, who fought through the grogginess and was always a good sport.  We would sneak to the basement, turn on the Raffi Christmas album, and open our stockings and presents from Saint Nick. 

And I remember the traditions as well.  Brunch and dinner on Christmas morning were always special.  They were one of the few occasions that my Dad, the chef, would dust off his fancy tools, don an apron, and cook a family meal.  For a while, we went to church on Christmas Eve, but that fizzled as we grew, and that evening became one for the family to gather and watch a movie – never a festive one – or play a game.  We would drop off a box of food at the food bank and feel like good citizens.

Extended family was never near at hand, and we never had the stress of visiting multiple houses.  In fact, this year’s trip to W&J’s house for dinner was the second time I had ever left my house on Christmas day.

My recently minted family, including my still-blushing bride and our two kitties, started the long road of building our own traditions and rituals this year.  K, who lives for this time of year, had the apartment decorated within the first week of December, and quickly set to work on her yearly Christmas banner.  We put the Santa hats on the cats for about thirty seconds, and giggled at their displeasure.  Sufjan Stevens’ “Songs for Christmas” collection magically appeared on our iPod.  And we hung our new stockings.

Christmas morning, we woke up and curled up on the couch in our un-insulated sun-room, and opened the presents under our glowing tree.  We laughed, and awed, and gave our cats their catnip toys, and glowed ourselves in the love and happiness of the season.  I felt that this was the start of many traditions, some new to me and some old.

And while I did wake up at 5:00 a.m., the lure of presents under the tree wasn’t quite enough to force me out of our warm bed this year – not with a beautiful Christmas angel lying beside me.  No sir, this year, I made it to 7:00.

D.