I wonder what they’ll remember about this Christmas? My kids’ memories are likely to be different than mine.
Years from now, will they remember… the presents I gave them? A new pair of jeans, a winter fleece, an iPod “shuffle,” a couple of CD’s or DVD’s? Or maybe something else. How tough it was to fall asleep on Christmas Eve, one child whispering for hours to the other; the big dinner feast on Christmas day with the family; the snow that came (that didn’t come) over the holidays; staying up way past their bedtime on New Year’s Eve?
I don’t really know. But I have a guess.
I think they will remember me spilling a glass of eggnog all down the front of my pants, the girls laughing at me and my sputtering and my mess until they and their mom have tears in the eyes.
Or they may recall staying up late to watch “A Christmas Carol,” the best one… the old black and white movie with Alistair Sims, and seeing their dad’s struggle not to cry when Tiny Tim’s dad comes back from the crippled boy’s grave.
Or, in the years ahead, it might be something not that complicated, a scene, a feeling, a single image my child will remember. She is stretched out on the sofa, tired, her head on a pillow that leans against me. It’s just a few minutes before bedtime, the TV is quiet, the dog is sleeping, the room is dark except for the lights on the tree. In front of her, the beauty and sparkle of a Christmas tree; behind her, safety… because she is leaning against me.
Or maybe that’s my memory, the one I will never forget.
