People like to say that Christmas is for the children, but I'm not so sure. The breathless excitement and wonder that our grandchildren (ages 1-5) feel this night are not shared by those of us of a more mature age and disposition. We've seen this show before, and so our sense of anticipation is not so keen.
I can remembering shivering, not from cold but from explosive excitement as I waited at the living room door before dawn on Christmas morning, but even that happiness does not match the satisfaction and pure pleasure of seeing that same excitement on the faces of your own children — or grandchildren. When I was growing up, I became convinced that 8 was the perfect age: You were old enough to eat on your own, big enough to play independently with others and too young to have very much expected of you in terms of household chores, academic success and responsibilities. As a young parent, I decided that 3 must be the perfect age — a time past potty training but still delightfully innocent and so full of wonder about every little experience.
Now, with the reflections of six decades, I realize that no age is better than any other. In every age there are wonderful experiences, opportunities and responsibilities. In every age there are disappointments and burdens. All of us face the curse of living in "interesting times." Life, as John Lennon said, is what happens while you're busy doing other things. Seize the day or enjoy the moment.
On this Christmas Eve night, full of uncertainty about whether best-laid plans will be canceled by the often-desired and -envied "white Christmas," we can revel in the memories of Christmases past when we did clutch all of our brood in the warm blanket of our home and intoxicated ourselves on the sweet nectar of family love. If this is to be remembered as the Christmas of altered plans, we will look forward to future opportunities to gather all together, for every age has its delights.
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