Yes, I remember it happening, but no, I can’t pin-point at what age it occurred. You know what I’m talking about…That almost instantaneous shift from the excitable and magical seven-year-old’s Christmas to that of an adult’s depiction of the holidays. An irreversible transition from chocolate coins, Reece’s Cups candy-canes and the game of Uno spilling over my home-made stocking to laughable white elephant gifts poking and prodding from Rudolph’s re-sown seams (23 years and the stocking Mrs. Reba made is still kicking).
It’s like it happened over-night. One year, the anticipation wasn’t nearly as overwhelming at 12:00 am on December 25. I could easily fall asleep on Christmas Eve, yet I battled waking up to my cousin's 30 presents and my, um well, not 30. Christmas wish-lists were always addressed to my parents anyway so there went the thrill of guessing the presents underneath the tree. I didn’t even bother with trying to sneak a peek at the back of Betsey’s closet. I was more concerned about forgetting what I had written down in hopes of possibly being surprised on Christmas morning. Talk about fun-sucker.
The impossible task of keeping the secret of St. Nick’s “existence” from my fellow friends and baby cousin Mathyn was a sure-fire failure. Needless to say, I may have inadvertently squashed some Christmas spirit for the Shouse’s and possibly a few other families on my block in the early 90’s. I kind of HAVE to blame my parents for my big mouth blabbing the truth about Santy Clause. They neglected to tell me that although he is in fact imaginary, we were the only kids in the neighborhood, or possibly in Griffin for that matter, that knew this Christmas bombshell.
Speaking of revelations, it just occurred to me. Because I was never given the opportunity to “believe” in Santa Clause, the curse of my pragmatism may stem from this very issue (albeit, genetics may play a small role, too). Don’t get me wrong, I’d choose being a realist over someone who is perhaps surrealistic any day that ends in y. The real head-scratcher, however, is my innate disposition on love, being in love and relationships. It’s like all of my pragmatic thinking is thrown out right behind the ambrosia when it comes to romance.
Now, speaking of romance! In all of my many, many years of dating, this will be my first Christmas in a healthy, happy and, might I add, loving relationship. That gift is more than enough for me!! No more broken hearts sobbing in the back of the Town and Country on the annual Christmas Eve drive to Statesboro. No more shocking discoveries of your first love’s unfaithful deeds at the holiday shindig you were so conveniently uninvited to. No more texts to the one guy you only half-way tolerate because you deleted every other chum’s number when they stopped making eye contact with you at the bar.. at the gym..in passing (yea, these kinds of things you don’t forget).
And finally, no more tear-stained pillows from a genuine prayer asking the Lord, “Please, Father. Ready my heart for my better half.”
God is good all of the time. He’s taught by example that it’s always better to give than to receive, and there’s no better time of year in which to embody His works. In 2012, I hope to give more of my time to my community, more time to my friends, more appreciation, respect and consideration for my family, and more personal challenges for myself. And while Christmas will always be the most romantic time of year to me, and I’m finally able to spend it with the apple of my eye, the man of my dreams, my sweetheart, I will always keep in focus the Reason for the Season—His unyielding love through Jesus Christ.
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