Going Back

“I think I’m goin’ back to the things I learned so well in my youth”

Every Christmas Eve we went through the same routine. Six over excitable children bursting with anticipation, unable to control their feverish delight and seven tired adults desperate for some respite from the tumult and to see them tucked up in bed. Nana went for her walk up the road in the dark. She would return, every time with some momentous news.

She had bumped into one of Santa’s elves and he told her that Santa was on his way. Children scurried in every direction, anxious to get to bed as soon as possible. Me and my sister hurried to our room. My cousins sprinted up the hill to their house. Clothes were scattered everywhere, pyjamas pulled on hastily and children tucked up in record time.

Another Christmas morning we woke to find that someone had attacked Nana’s Christmas cake. A chunk had been taken out of it during the night. It had to be Santa – he had left some evidence behind.  The indentations of his chubby fingers on what remained of the cake.

Sadly, this wasn’t the worst of his crimes. He had also stolen one of Nana’s good plates, which she had left the biscuits on for him.

After breakfast, when the cousins arrived down to show off their bounty they were told in hushed tones of the grave offence that had been committed. All presents were soon forgotten and games pushed to one side.

We took the theft as seriously as Gardaí investigating a bank robbery. Enquiries were conducted and a search for the stolen plate was launched but it was never recovered.

We came to the conclusion that it was now occupying pride of place on Santa’s dresser in the North Pole.

“Now there are no games to only pass the time no more colouring books no Christmas bells to chime”

I’m an adult now and, it finally dawned on me, I have responsibilities. Being part of that adult world you have to leave magic and wonderment in your childhood and become sensible and serious. Getting excited over Christmas isn’t the done thing. You have to be less Tiny Tim and more Ebeneezer Scrooge.  

I join in with the general chorus of disapproval over the crass comercialisation of Christmas. The Christmas ads starting on television as soon as Halloween is over? It’s terrible. They shouldn’t be allowed till the start of December. I nod my head and agree.

Every year people complain that the build up to Christmas begins earlier and earlier. They repeat the same criticisms, like a broken record. The shops laden with Christmas gifts and foods, the towns and cities resplendent in lights and decorations, the Christmas songs played on the radio. All these are major grips at this time of the year and I whinge along with the best of them.

I was in Dublin last week and as we passed Grafton Street I noticed the Christmas lights were aglow. I pointed this out to my friend and informed him that there were still seven weeks to go to the big day. He said all the usual things about it being too early to have the lights on and, as always, I agreed with him but inside I was thrilled to see the street illuminated by thousands of tiny bulbs.

“I think I’m returning to those days when I was young enough to know the truth”

You see, the thing is, I love Christmas. Sure I go along with all the complaining and moaning about it so that I can seem grown up and responsible. It’s what I thought I had to do now that I’m an adult but that’s not how I really feel about Christmas.

For me, it’s not just my favourite time of year, it’s the best time of the year. It retains all the magic it held for me as a child. It captivates me. All through November and into December the anticipation builds as it draws ever closer.

When I was a child I looked forward to seeing what had been left under the tree for me (I still do!) but now giving gifts are more important. I love Christmas shopping, wandering through the city centre and browsing the shop aisles, seeking out the perfect gifts for my family and friends.

I enjoy wrapping the presents and tying them up with the ribbon I bought to complement the glitzy paper. Above all I love seeing the joy on people’s faces when they receive a gift and I get a warm glow from appreciative texts on Christmas morning.

I love baking Christmas cakes and treats. Engineering the layers of the sherry trifle is undertaken with military precision. Cooking Christmas dinner with my mam is another militaryesque operation but I enjoy it and its a hugely important part of Christmas for me.

I love Christmas so much that I don’t even mind the arguments over decorating the Christmas tree and the air turning blue with the rants over the tangled Christmas lights and the blown bulbs. They are as much a part of Christmas as wishing for snow.

We always strive for perfection at Christmas but somehow we never seem to achieve it. It isn’t the one day in the year when harsh words are not spoken or all the cracks in our fractured relationships are papered over, like the movies suggest. Perfection isn’t possible, even at Christmas and that’s part of its charm and why I love it so much. We try. To be better people, to live better lives. Thats the true meaning of Christmas.

I knew this when I was a child but somewhere along the way it became obscured, lost in the fog of growing up and believing that to be an adult, the best part of being a child had to be left behind. I now know it doesn’t and this Christmas I’m going back to those childhood truths.

“But thinking young and growing older is no sin and I can play the game of life to win”