Christmas

Christmas is over. Every year, there are moments, or conversations, or feelings that add to my memory and from then on define Christmas. This year there are three moments to add to my Christmas picture book.

The first is about Margaret. I've been married to this woman for over thirty-five years, but she still finds ways to surprise me. She's not and never has been shy, but I just love the way she was belting out Karaoke at a party with fifty people she had never met.

The second is about Maggie. Our daughter was the host this year, and it was just fun to be at her house, living to her rhythms, and seeing Christmas a little through her eyes, eyes that look more gently on others than I had known. So I learn more about her too.

And the third involves my son. His girlfriend had mentioned she'd like a red radio flyer wagon for Christmas, to lug stuff around her Brooklyn neighborhood. So he dug his childhood one out of storage, cleaned it up, repainted it, and wrapped it up for her. Then, at Christmas Mass, before he had given it to her, the priest delivered a sermon that involved a story of a Baby Jesus stature, thought to be stolen from a church. The parish priest later found the statue, being pulled down the street in a red wagon by a small boy. The priest accused the boy of stealing the Baby Jesus, but the little boy explained that he had asked Jesus for a red wagon for Christmas, and had promised, that if he got one, he'd take Jesus for the first ride. You couldn't have paid for better homily if you had a little red wagon wrapped up under the tree.

Christmas has changed so much. It's stating the obvious to list the ways. So, it's been good to think about family this week. It seems sort of old-fashioned. In a good way.