Those Years Were Perfect

This morning I lay awake early in bed, leaving my phone alone and instead letting my mind revisit earlier years, going back before there were even phones to distract, back when my early-morning company was all within my own head.  Going back to other Christmases, all stacked up and overlapping, so many memories now blurring and blending with time.

I recall the early years, when as a child I'd awake early with hopeful expectation and creep out to see presents under the tree, then I'd climb back in bed with my head filled with the morning soon to come.  I'd expect to stay awake for hours, yet always the demands of my young body would take over and I'd be surprised to awaken a few hours later to the sounds of my brothers loudly whispering down the hall.  Soon, we'd all be awake, picking up presents for a furtive shake, or excitedly planning what to do with any large, unwrapped gifts that might be under the tree.  "A sled?  But there's no snow!"  "Bikes!  It's cold, but once the sun is up, off we go!"

As for the tree, it was always a live tree - almost the same tree, only different - as each year we'd hike off to find a tree on Dad's acreage.  In the younger years, we would pick the trees, and Dad would point out "Too big!  Too small! No branches on this side.", and eventually we'd settle and Dad would cut it and haul it home, sometimes by hand and sometimes tied to the top of the car with perhaps a few more strings and knots than a 1/2mi slow drive required.  In later years, we boys would do it ourselves, taking turns with the work of cutting and carrying. 

Once home, we'd decorate the tree, putting the perennial strings of HOT incandescent colored bulbs, traditional ornaments that were fragile and became fewer in number over the years, the more recent treasures created in grade-school art classes and increasing in number every year, and the strings of tinsel and home-made paper chains.  It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized that perhaps using the rather mangy and tarnished (real silver!) tinsel wasn't perhaps only for "tradition's sake", but maybe also because new tinsel might have meant one fewer present.  And that the endless paper ribbons were as much a keep-busy project for rambunctious kids on chilly winter break days as for decoration, as back then the days went slowly and the breaks were long.

But eventually Christmas morning arrived!  After an interminable hour or two (or was it 15 minutes?) we would finally wake up Mom and Dad (why DID they ALWAYS seem so tired on Christmas morning, of all days???), only to have to wait for Dad to very particularly get out his camera, load the film, and ready the flash bulbs.  And then he'd interrupt present-opening (Why?  Who needs pictures???) to quickly stage a smiling boy holding an opened gift, again and again.  Then we'd eat a big breakfast, play with the new toys -- hopefully not break any -- and then squabble about something pointless until Mom ran us out of the house to expend our energy outdoors, and Dad would lie on the couch and take a nap.

Of course, years later we enjoyably revisited many of these grudgingly-taken Christmas pictures as we cleaned out their house over a decade ago now, and were mildly surprised to see more of these prints as we scoured my uncle's house last year for valuables and found pics my mom had sent him, and viewed still more as we chatted with her old friends and younger relatives on the same trip.

Those years of tight-knit rural family turned into years of cars and high-school friends and ski-trips, as carefree teens, but always there were brothers and parents around over Christmas break, and nobody even thought about illness, death, and separation.

I didn't know it then, but looking back, those years were perfect.


Fast-forward a few years and now I'm the tired dad, embracing happily with my also-tired wife at 2 a.m., reviewing our work in the family room of our rapidly-filling first "real house" adorned inside and out with festive decorations, looking at our too-large tree with thousands of mini-lights, surrounded by a sea of wrapped presents representing weeks of furtive trips to the mall and Toys-R-Us and exhausting hunts for Tickle-Me Elmo or Barbie's Dream House, and accented by flickers from the dying embers in the fireplace.   Just a few hours later as morning came, I'd be shushing the kids "Let mom sleep!", and making cinnamon rolls and orange rolls to buy a few more minutes before the kids could wait no longer and they'd try to prod their mother from bed and through her morning routine. 

Now I'm the "Smile for the camera!" guy, evolving with the years from 35mm to tape video camera to digital camera, and after the flurry of openings then making a run to the store for batteries for one toy or another, or helping to assemble a toy or a puzzle.  Then we'd head out to Mom and Dad's for a Christmas dinner, with a sensory-overloaded and exhausted toddler or two falling asleep in car-seats on the drive.  Eventually these trips morphed to going to a brother's house as we divided the holidays to make life easier on Mom, and included more aunts and cousins as the extended family expanded. 

These years went so quickly, as I noticed (not for the first time) that somehow the years accelerated, and I embraced with gusto the challenges and responsibilities of parenting.  Soon enough storm-clouds of illness, disability, and loss would arrive, but for a few short years I was aware of the blessings I had and not of the challenges to come.

I knew it then, and fondly recall now: those years were perfect.

The surreal haze of the early, exhausting, blissful, childhood years soon morph to the teen years, with fewer but more expensive kid presents as the fading magic turns into desires and expectations, and for a while the spousal gifts became practical as trade-offs abounded, and the days were logistically hectic with the kids and their friends going here and there, all amidst the challenges of caring for a disabled child as a backdrop for daily life, and with a backdrop of me navigating shifting careers and national recessions as my burden to carry.

By then we had our own traditions in our current house, and for the kids this represents the Christmases they remember, with the big holiday wreath on the wall, a progression of artificial trees but with a similar set of traditional ornaments, handmade-treasures, and strings of LEDs on the tree, a generation newer than my traditions.  I'm willing to bet there were middle-of-the night forays to peek for presents, and knowing my kids probably a few peeled back wrappings carefully re-taped as well. 

Of course, for me their Christmas tradition memory is not the only tradition, perhaps another chapter, different yet also fondly remembered, with a bit less magic but so much energy and love as children, then teenage emotions, angst, and uncertainty gave way to dreams and plans.  These happy years were gone in an instant, as the days sometimes seemed interminable but the years kept getting shorter.  I knew going through them that these years were not perfect, obviously, and learned painfully that life and health aren't guaranteed, and you must make the most of every minute.  Along the way, family pictures gained gaps never to be filled again.  Bittersweet interludes, for sure, but these years were precious.


Those years of everybody around the tree evaporated, and now the kids are spread across the country and it's rare to have them all home at once, and my brothers are scattered with lives of their own and it's rare to have us all together at once.  No more hectic weeks of finding and funding presents, as a Secret Santa gift exchange suffices.  No more can we brothers visit our childhood home, as it's been empty and sold for many years.  Now it is our house that hosts fewer big Christmas get-togethers, as our kids and their cousins are off and running in different directions with their high-school then college friends, and then significant-others and in-laws.  

This year, I find that we're in an awkward gap of grown-kids but no grand-kids (hopefully yet another chapter to come!), and Christmas holds little magic.  It's been years since I've decorated outside, and the wreath over the door went away a few years back, and the garlands on the stairs became intermittent, but this year is the first without a tree....only the big wreath and a few small decorations. Just wasn't feeling the season, and the effort seemed a bit pointless, but I'm not sure I like it this way, as the tree is a nice focus for recollecting the past and planning the future.

Certainly, life is less hectic now, but still pretty full with just two of us most days, days which no longer seem quite so long, and the years seem positively fleeting.  I can't imagine how fast the next decade will go, but perhaps somewhere in there will be childhood Christmas magic once again.  In the meantime, I will look back at the chapters of my life as the year turns over, and happily enjoy once again the memories of each. 

Sometimes, certainly, there are poignant pangs over loss, but I will strive to keep the emotion of the time with each year, so that the happy times remain as blissful with ignorance of pain to come, and the sad points do not color the years before or after but emphasize only the value of family, and after all time heals the worst of the wounds so even the hard years are mostly happy in retrospect.  And, knowing that life is uncertain and ephemeral, and aware that we must make the most of every minute, I will ensure everyone knows they are loved and cherished.  I'm pretty sure these years are just about perfect.

Merry Christmas all, especially friends and family who have been along for this wild ride.  And, in just a few days, a Happy New Year.