By Jason Marshall
Just the other day, I was called childish.
I replied: “I know you are, but what am I?
Of course I’m childish. Immature. Silly. Foolish. Goofy, if you will.
All men are. We’re also childish enough to wear it as a badge of honour.
That’s why I was a little hurt when I found out the word was supposed to be “childlike.”
I can’t dispute that label either, especially this time of year.
Our house is full of kids at Christmastime. Two officially. Two by choice. All four overflowing with the spirit of the season.
Creating Christmas memories for our two boys is high on the priority list, and to teach you must draw on what you were taught. Even if you didn’t realize at the time there was teaching afoot.
Our approach is this: the gifts are the destination and everything else is the journey. As with life, it’s during the journey when the special moments appear. Moments with staying power.
Those are the seeds we want to plant and cultivate.
The list of gifts I remember opening at Christmas pales in length to the number of stories I can clearly recall about why the holidays felt so magical. Those tales are the foundation on which we’re building our own December traditions.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s a miracle I escaped childhood without carpal tunnel syndrome from writing all those lists for Santa. After all, as a kid ‘tis the season of receivn’.
Despite scribbling all those letters, I can count on one hand how many gifts I remember asking Santa to bring me. Yet, there were always presents under the tree, and a stocking overflowing with goodies and trinkets.
And a note from Santa. Always. Without fail. A handwritten letter to me from the big man himself.
Therein lies the magic. What’s in the wrapping paper doesn’t matter. The fact Santa always showed up is the most vivid memory. That snapshot resonates with me.
That, and the anticipation of his arrival. Counting down the number of sleeps until the 25th. Think back to how magical that was to your younger self. That’s a goosebump memory.
Ask yourself what you recall most about Christmas when you were a kid. For me, the answer invariably comes back to moments, not things.
Stringing popcorn with a needle and thread with mom for a tree decoration. We didn’t do that every year, but I remember the times we did.
After Eight mints. They were a staple on the coffee table. Along with a dish of walnuts, Brazil nuts, pecans and a nutcracker. With the little pick to get them out of the shell.
Picking up a gift to open and knowing that beneath that shiny paper were tube socks and underwear. Then feeling your mom’s steely stare as she watches for your best fake smile and a forced “thank you, Grandma” that sounds genuine.
In fact, opening any clothes gifts was deflating. Kids don’t care about clothes. Though looking back at how my mom dressed me for school photos, maybe I should’ve taken more of an interest.
Then again, one year I opened a pair of Cougar winter boots with the red lining. There go those goosebumps again.
Christmas baking. I close my eyes and can still smell chocolate chip cookies and ginger snaps cooling on the counter.
Cuddled on the couch waiting for the Grinch and Charlie Brown.
The evergreen smell of a real tree and proudly being called upon to crawl under and water it.
Hours poring through the Sears and bending the page corners.
Holiday music was a must. The regular LPs were pushed to the side, and the Christmas albums were piled beside the stereo. To this very day, every time I hear Burl Ives sing Have a Holly Jolly Christmas, I expect it to skip, and I’ll be given a penny to put on top of the needle.
Our house was always decorated. Inside and out. The day the boxes from the basement appeared in our living room meant the countdown was on.
The final decorating touch was always being hoisted up with two strong arms so I could put the star on top of the tree.
Those are the types of memories I want for my boys. And their families.
So, yes, if childlike means being filled with innocence and wonderment, then I truly do check that box this time of year. Christmas magic from my magician parents that continues to linger.
Christmas isn’t one day. Or even a season. It’s a feeling. A soulful feeling that lives and breathes inside of you. It’s a tapestry of all the little things. They are the difference makers.
Jason Marshall has been a writer and journalist for more than 35 years, and is an on-air host and general manager at Valley Heritage Radio just outside of Renfrew, Ontario. And he’s truly a big kid at heart. You can email him anytime at jason@valleyheritageradio.ca.
