It's all about the memories (12/24/2008)

Christmas is about many things.

But for me it will always be about memories.

Memories of waiting just above the landing on the stairs while my father moved through his morning routine with infinite slowness. We couldn't go downstairs to check out our stockings and find out what Santa had brought until he was ready. The anticipation was excruciating.

Memories of shopping for presents as a teenager with a paper route. It was the first time in my life that I would be paying for the gifts out of my own pocket, and it underscored how important and powerful the pleasure of giving can be. Thanks to Christmas tips from my customers I was able to put a silver dollar in other family members' stockings one year, playing Santa and delighting in being able to give.

Memories of shaking packages and trying to see through the wrapping paper to figure out what was inside. I still recall the profound sense of guilty foolishness one year when, after stretching the tissue paper this way and that, I was suddenly and irrevocably able to read the side of the box, ruining the Christmas morning surprise. That was the last time I tried to figure out what was inside the wrapping paper. It's much, much better to find out on Christmas.

Memories of neighborhood friends who took the pre-Christmas investigations to an extreme. One was reputed to have not only opened packages in advance but played with the toys, put them back in the box, re-wrapped them, and feigned surprise when she opened them as her parents watched on Christmas day. The mind boggles at that level of childhood deception. My guess is, her parents weren't fooled one bit.

Memories of fooling my wife with Christmas surprises. There was the year she thought her biggest present was a huge rectangle that turned out to be an antique trunk, when in reality the biggest present was a small one under the tree that she had never noticed. Another year I bought a painting we had both admired and hid it at my parents' house so that she never even encountered a wrapped gift until Christmas morning.

Memories of a Christmas Eve when the UPS man delivered a much-anticipated and long-delayed gift for our twins. It was a wooden dollhouse we had ordered from a craftsman in New Hampshire. Unfortunately, as I was to learn on Christmas Eve, it needed to be assembled. So while the twins slept - they were about four at the time - I stayed up late into the night, puzzling over directions and worrying that I wouldn't get it done in time. I need not have worried.

Memories of caroling with friends, making our way around the block on a chilly night, and still more memories of the Christmas carol sing at the Jay County Courthouse, an event I miss. When we first attended the event, sponsored by the Portland Musical Club, the emphasis seemed to be on singing, raising our voices communally to celebrate the holiday. But over the years, it evolved into more of a series of performances by local groups. They were all excellent, but there's a world of difference between a participatory event and a performance. Wonderful as it can be to hear others sing, there was something special about the occasion when it was just all of us singing together.

Memories of playing the role of a shepherd, bathrobe and all, in a church pageant.

Memories of white Christmases, gray Christmases, sunny Christmases, and rainy Christmases.

You get the idea.

And my guess is that as you read through the preceding paragraphs your own set of memories started to play out in your head. Take a few moments to enjoy them, tonight on this great eve of anticipation. And spend some time tomorrow making sure someone else has warm memories of Christmas to cherish in years ahead.[[In-content Ad]]