As a child, I used to sneak into the living room after dark and stare at the Christmas tree. I’d watch the lights blink shades of red and blue upon the wall while listening to the slow crinkle of the angel up above. Her wings moved so beautifully and methodically atop the tree. From top to bottom, the decorated pine would sparkle in the darkness of the living room. Even the paper of the wrapped presents underneath seemed to glimmer, their inherent mysteries unknown, adding to the magic of the evening. I could watch for hours, there alone, in the dark... experiencing Christmas.
Now, my experience is different. I’ve matured, I suppose, and Christmas has become more about sharing time with family and friends rather than mysteries and magic under the Christmas tree. Nowadays I ask for the new packages of Hanes t-shirts, the ones I used to hate to get, but now I’m happy when I do. Remembering that clothing gifts used to constitute a waste of wrapping paper for me is only one indicator of how Christmas has changed as I’ve gotten older. The older I get, the more it becomes about family.
That’s what makes their absence, and its implicit emptiness, felt more acutely around the holidays.
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