I've been a sucker for those big traditional gatherings. The kind you see on television specials where family comes traveling from all parts to congregate in one, big, warm, cozy house and proceed to have a the merriest damn time of their lives.
My own Christmas Eves have been pretty good for the most part. What they've lacked in tradition, they've made up for in other ways. When I think of Christmas Eve, I think I'll always think first of my mom and dad and our early houses and all those years we ate a big supper before breaking into the gifts. Usually it was my dad who couldn't hold out, and I loved that about him. My parents wrapped those presents way early, so I had weeks to suffer through, temptation biting me right on my big, fat face the entire time. Damn, I miss those years and being that young and innocent and eager and full of curiosity. If I knew then what I do now, I would have made them last as long as I could have.
Christmas Eve also brings me back to my own kids. Nearly 15 years ago, I took my two older kids sledding for several hours on what was a bitterly cold day. They didn't notice the cold a bit. We had a tall hill that was a fast as a hungry cat. We had good sleds, and we had all the time in the world. We explored every inch of that hill that day. Sometimes, I wonder if they even remember that day. If they remember the absolute blast they had piling on top of me and us crashing to the bottom of that hill. If they do remember, I doubt they remember much. They were young and it was many years ago.
Today, I took my youngest daughter sledding. It was just as cold as all those years ago, but she didn't mind a bit. I had to drag her inside, but before I did, we made run after run after run, and if she didn't laugh as hard as I ever seen her. I wish I would have captured it in images or video, but I was too busy having fun to give the event much forethought. I only wish she could hold on to this memory as long as I will.
Tonight, we'll write Santa a letter and leave some cookies for the old man. That I will take photos of..
My own Christmas Eves have been pretty good for the most part. What they've lacked in tradition, they've made up for in other ways. When I think of Christmas Eve, I think I'll always think first of my mom and dad and our early houses and all those years we ate a big supper before breaking into the gifts. Usually it was my dad who couldn't hold out, and I loved that about him. My parents wrapped those presents way early, so I had weeks to suffer through, temptation biting me right on my big, fat face the entire time. Damn, I miss those years and being that young and innocent and eager and full of curiosity. If I knew then what I do now, I would have made them last as long as I could have.
Christmas Eve also brings me back to my own kids. Nearly 15 years ago, I took my two older kids sledding for several hours on what was a bitterly cold day. They didn't notice the cold a bit. We had a tall hill that was a fast as a hungry cat. We had good sleds, and we had all the time in the world. We explored every inch of that hill that day. Sometimes, I wonder if they even remember that day. If they remember the absolute blast they had piling on top of me and us crashing to the bottom of that hill. If they do remember, I doubt they remember much. They were young and it was many years ago.
Today, I took my youngest daughter sledding. It was just as cold as all those years ago, but she didn't mind a bit. I had to drag her inside, but before I did, we made run after run after run, and if she didn't laugh as hard as I ever seen her. I wish I would have captured it in images or video, but I was too busy having fun to give the event much forethought. I only wish she could hold on to this memory as long as I will.
Tonight, we'll write Santa a letter and leave some cookies for the old man. That I will take photos of..
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