Christmas has a way of pulling us backward and forward at the same time. One moment we’re standing in the soft glow of a tree covered in ornaments we’ve carried with us for decades, and the next we’re watching our kids create memories they will one day share with their own families. For me, Christmas has always been that kind of holiday, one that ties together the traditions of my childhood, the energy of my kids today, and the meaning that still sits at the center of the season.
When I think about Christmas growing up, the memories come rushing back through every sense I have. The first sight that always brings me home is that first real Christmas snow, the kind that turns the world into a quiet blanket of white before the rush of holiday gatherings begins. But this year, while decorating the Christmas tree with my kids, I had one of those moments that stopped me for a second and made me realize just how quickly the years go by. One of my most prized collections is a set of Hallmark ornaments called the Reindeer Games. They came out each year from the time I was six until I was thirteen. Eight little reindeer, each playing a different sport, each one representing a new year and a new memory. Next year, the oldest one turns forty. That is hard to wrap my head around. I can still remember opening those boxes on my October birthday, waiting to see which sport the next reindeer would be playing, and then putting it up on the tree in December. To think that it has been more than thirty years since that collection was completed is something that makes time feel like it moves in fast forward.
Christmas has sounds that trigger memories, too. For me, it is the Chipmunk Christmas song. That was the soundtrack to tree decorating when I was young, and it is still the soundtrack today. I play it without fail every year, and it snaps my mind right back to being a kid.
And then there are the smells. Christmas has a lot of them, but the one that always tells me the season has officially arrived is my mom’s homemade Chex Mix in the oven. It was always the last thing she made before the Christmas Eve gatherings began. Mom could cook up a storm, from candies to cookies to dips, but that smell of Chex Mix filling the house was the final signal. Once you smelled that, you knew guests were coming and Christmas Eve was about to begin.
Our traditions on my mom’s side of the family probably were not strange, but they were uniquely ours. The night always began with the Christmas Eve church service, where the kids played their parts. By the time we got home, it was well past eight, and the celebration was just getting started. My mom’s side of the family would come to our house first, and we would tear into the presents that had arrived while we were gone. That was when Santa showed up for me. He always seemed to know the exact moment to swing by while I was at church.
Mom would lay out a spread of snacks that could have filled a banquet room. Grinch Punch, candies, cookies, taco dip, that famous Chex Mix, and everything else she could possibly think of. We would wrap things up around ten thirty and then pile into the vehicle to head to my aunt and uncle’s place on the family farm site. More snacks. More presents. More laughter. That would go until midnight, and then we would simply walk across the farmyard to my grandparents’ home. And yes, even at midnight, the celebration continued. Gifts from grandpa and grandma were opened, stories were shared, and even though it was not a traditional meal, there was always food on the table. We never made it home before three thirty in the morning on Christmas Day. That was just normal for us.
Of course, the livestock did not care what time we got home. They still needed to be fed, and chores still had to be done. Dad always ground feed early so he would not have to break away from the festivities on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. My job was the sheep. Every morning and night, I mixed their grain ration and made sure they had hay. Dad had this thing he did where the animals got a double ration on holidays. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Easter. He said it was because it made things easier, but as an adult, I realized the bigger truth. Christmas Day was the one morning he would go out and do my chores for me so I could sleep off the late night. The trade-off was that I did the afternoon chores alone, but I cannot say I blame him. Even the ducks and chickens got the holiday treatment, with an extra generous helping of grain. Whether the animals knew it or not, they always ate well on Christmas.
Now I am the dad, and my kids are teenagers. My daughter is a junior in high school, and my son is a freshman. The magic of Christmas looks different these days, but the heart of it feels the same. We share the same goofy humor I had growing up. Decorating the tree is full of jokes and silliness, not to mention the pride I felt this year when I reached a personal milestone: I topped my dad’s Christmas tree light record. Dad proudly strung twelve hundred lights on our tree when I was a kid. That tree practically lit up the whole house on its own. This year, with a tree that is about six and a half feet tall, I strung on my five thousandth light. My son laughed, but he also understood the accomplishment. The importance of crafting a tree that becomes its own light source is something I hope he takes with him.
But more than the decorations or even the gifts, it is that quote I heard recently that sticks with me the most. The difference between being a kid at Christmas and being an adult is simple. When you grow up, you are responsible for the magic. You cannot let the deadlines swallow you. You cannot let the stress of shopping or schedules, or busyness, steal what the season is supposed to be. You have to be the one who makes the magic for your kids. And someday, when it is their turn, they will do the same.
As we celebrate Christmas this year, that is the message I hope people carry with them. Christmas is not about the material things. It never has been. Yes, I remember some of the presents I got, but the things I hold onto most are the moments. The laughter. The late nights with family. The long walks across snowy farmyards. The Chipmunks on the stereo and the smell of Chex Mix filling the house. The memories.
Christmas comes every year, whether the economy is good, bad, or somewhere in between. It shows up whether you spent five dollars or five hundred dollars. Christmas does not care about the economy. Christmas comes to remind us to bring out the best in ourselves. To slow down. To reconnect. To focus on what matters most.
This year has been a tough one, but there is still so much to celebrate. There is still family to cherish, moments to create, and magic to make. And when we look back years from now, it will not be the presents we remember. It will be the time spent together, the traditions we keep alive, and the new ones we build along the way.
Merry Christmas.
