The Importance of Tradition
My brother and I are both adults. We've moved out of the house, hold down jobs (in my case you could argue with that, but go with it), and generally take care of ourselves.
It's been that way for a few years too. I live far enough away that I typically only make it home once or twice a year. That great second visit has been mostly reserved for medical emergencies, graduations, and funerals. We're at an in-between phase as far as Christmases go. All the children in the family are grown (my youngest cousin starts high school this year), but there aren't any grandchildren yet.
I've always though Christmas was perfect for children. There is this unknown factor that makes it all so exciting. We used to go to my Aunt's on Christmas Eve, eat dinner, open our one present for the night, sit through a church service and then go to bed. Where I would never be able to sleep. I had to know what was under the tree.
My brother, on the other hand, didn't have that need. Mostly because he already knew. In addition to being a master snooper, he has some magic ability to pick up a package and automatically know what was inside.
Either way, at some point we'd both fall asleep for a few hours. Once we were old enough to tell time, there were rules. No getting out of bed until 5AM. Then 6AM. 7AM. 8AM. Then there were the years when my mom would be yelling for us to get up because we needed to get the day going.
My aunt and cousins always open presents from Santa at their own house, then trudge across town to open the rest with us. My brother and I would call about 125,294 times between the time we got up and the time they got over to our place because we were so anxious we couldn't stand the wait. Now, it is the perfect time to take showers, organize things, and watch something on TV.
Tomorrow morning, my husband and I will probably be awake by 8AM. We'll stay in bed a little while, maybe watch something on TV until we hear my brother stirring. We'll get up, open our stockings, and then start putting stuff away. At some point, we'll take showers and put on a new pair of pajamas (who gets dressed?) and then turn on the TV to some movie (or, God willing, a Dr. Who marathon). The rest of the family will show up at about 10 or 11. Then we'll work our way through the mountain of gifts until the turkey is ready or we finish, whichever comes first.
It's not the same as it was when we were children. The day will come when Christmas morning once again starts at 5AM. Despite all the changes, my mom still insists that we pick one present each year to open on Christmas Eve. I don't need it anymore. I can stand to wait the last 10 hours before the real day actually begins.
Sometimes, though, it's nice to know that some things never change.
It's been that way for a few years too. I live far enough away that I typically only make it home once or twice a year. That great second visit has been mostly reserved for medical emergencies, graduations, and funerals. We're at an in-between phase as far as Christmases go. All the children in the family are grown (my youngest cousin starts high school this year), but there aren't any grandchildren yet.
I've always though Christmas was perfect for children. There is this unknown factor that makes it all so exciting. We used to go to my Aunt's on Christmas Eve, eat dinner, open our one present for the night, sit through a church service and then go to bed. Where I would never be able to sleep. I had to know what was under the tree.
My brother, on the other hand, didn't have that need. Mostly because he already knew. In addition to being a master snooper, he has some magic ability to pick up a package and automatically know what was inside.
Either way, at some point we'd both fall asleep for a few hours. Once we were old enough to tell time, there were rules. No getting out of bed until 5AM. Then 6AM. 7AM. 8AM. Then there were the years when my mom would be yelling for us to get up because we needed to get the day going.
My aunt and cousins always open presents from Santa at their own house, then trudge across town to open the rest with us. My brother and I would call about 125,294 times between the time we got up and the time they got over to our place because we were so anxious we couldn't stand the wait. Now, it is the perfect time to take showers, organize things, and watch something on TV.
Tomorrow morning, my husband and I will probably be awake by 8AM. We'll stay in bed a little while, maybe watch something on TV until we hear my brother stirring. We'll get up, open our stockings, and then start putting stuff away. At some point, we'll take showers and put on a new pair of pajamas (who gets dressed?) and then turn on the TV to some movie (or, God willing, a Dr. Who marathon). The rest of the family will show up at about 10 or 11. Then we'll work our way through the mountain of gifts until the turkey is ready or we finish, whichever comes first.
It's not the same as it was when we were children. The day will come when Christmas morning once again starts at 5AM. Despite all the changes, my mom still insists that we pick one present each year to open on Christmas Eve. I don't need it anymore. I can stand to wait the last 10 hours before the real day actually begins.
Sometimes, though, it's nice to know that some things never change.
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