On Wednesday, November 20, 2013, I came downstairs to find the artificial Christmas tree box was pried open by forks. It was a
kiddie-crime, orchestrated by Dylan (age 6) and Carter (3). However, the true
m astermind behind the operation was yours truly ~ me.
And what happened was a box opened by forks. The kids loved Christmas as much as me and they couldn’t
wait for the tree! With a now open box, there was only one logical thing to do — put it up.
I’m just glad they bypassed the knives for forks. Good kids.
This worried me.
They knew Santa brought gifts for kids but not necessarily
adults. I wondered how much magic would be left when they grew up; when the
Santa years were behind them.
I obsessed over that thought.
For the last few years, I laid the groundwork with
my oldest son, Dylan. We talked about the Christmas spirit. Regardless of his
age, I stressed that Christmas could (and should) mean just
as much as it always did.
I wondered if my message would resonate. I wondered if the
bright lights and sights of the season would overshadow the true meaning of
Christmas.
This year, because of travel (and years of breaking down
Aimee’s hard-and-fast policy), I put the tree up early. I knew the routine ~
I’d do the chore, then as a family we’d decorate it. That was fine.
So, I ripped the duct tape off the box. I walked to the
trash can to throw it away. I turned to walk back to the box and there I see
Dylan.
Carter turned away from his computer and got wind of what
his older brother was doing. He hopped off his chair and helped.
Grady heard the commotion from the other room. He wanted in
too.
They suggested it was a good year for a new tree topper.
Dylan pulled up Amazon and picked a gold star.
A few days later, while Aimee and I sat at the table, the
star arrived. They opened it. Then, with no prompting, the boys opened the
large box of ornaments. All three decorated the tree as Aimee and I looked on.
The tree was all theirs and they were proud of the job they did.
We were too.
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November 2019 |
The tree won’t make the cover of a magazine, but this year the spirit of Christmas lived on through our oldest son. The meaning of Christmas seemed to intensify with his maturity — not the other way around, as I so feared.
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