This is the time of year for blogs to carry titles like “Christmas memories” or “Christmas as a kid” or “What I want for Christmas” etc etc etc.
Ich.
I, for one, am pretty happy that I no longer have to rush around buying a ton of toys for my lovely and brilliant son. Wrapping them Christmas Eve while he was asleep in the next room was always nerve-wracking. I had no idea of what I would have said if he’d woken to find me doing Santa’s job. I probably would have said, “Okay, you busted me, son. I am, indeed, Santa Claus.”
(Which, in a way, I was. Maybe we’ll talk about that next year.)
At this point–three days before Christmas–I’ve purchased exactly two presents. One for my older sister, one for my ex-wife. And that’s it. Am I panicking?
No.
Because, really, a gift should be a gift and not an obligation. I have a sneaking suspicion that if I didn’t get the other six people on my list presents this year, it would be OK. None of them would stop loving me. None of them would even notice I didn’t get them anything. Most would be happy that they didn’t have to reciprocate.
Ah, Christmas when you’re 65. A lot less hassle.
I am flying to Michigan Christmas Day to be with my son and his family. As readers of this blog might remember, my first grandchild was born in March 2021. This will be the first time I can see that baby girl in person. I am excited to go there.
So. So. So.
If I show up in Michigan without presents, do you think my boy will tell me to turn around and leave until I can come appropriately festooned with gifts? Or will he just be happy to see his old father?
I guess I’ll go to Barnes & Nobles and get him something, something for his wife, something for the baby. Books. They don’t break in your suitcase while you travel.
My gift to you, dear readers, is a week off. We will see one another in the New Year. I suspect it will be much like the old year, only moreso.
Happy holidays, my dears.
Mark Bruce, Writer 