When I think of Christmas, I think of Santa, presents and making cookies. My sister and I would sleep with my mom on Christmas Eve and stay awake to see if we could hear anything. One time, I swear I heard something on our roof — I thought it was Santa and his reindeer. We would put out cookies and milk and leave carrots for the reindeer, too. We had our Elf on the Shelf, who mysteriously would move to a different spot every morning. My sister and I would run around our house trying to find him. His name was Fred.
We had a table behind our couch that we decorated with our little town of Christmas people. My favorite was the pond in front of a tiny house filled with reindeer that I would strategically place in the perfect spots. We still bring this Christmas town to life each year but it was different when I was little. It brought me so much happiness to see the characters of our little town and to make up stories about each person. As a kid, I knew they weren’t real people but part of me thought that when I went to bed they would come alive, like “Toy Story.”
My family would go to the Christmas tree farm off Route 7 and pick a tree. My mom would spend hours there if it weren’t for my dad telling her what the perfect one is. My sister and I would play hide and seek while they picked out the tree. When we got home, we would play Christmas music on our TV and hang the ornaments. Every year my mom gets my sister and me a new ornament to hang on our tree. We have an excessive amount of random ornaments from all the years of this tradition.
On Christmas Eve, we always had a party with all the neighborhood friends that I am still friends with to this day. Santa would walk in the front door and have presents for us when we were little. We still do this Christmas party each year, but as a kid, seeing Santa enter was an excitement like no other. I remember one year, as a kid, I asked Santa for a purple camera. That night before we went to the Christmas party, I saw my mom wrapping the purple camera. I thought she was just helping Santa out. I miss being a kid on Christmas.
Every year, my mom and dad hide a pickle ornament on our tree. Between my sister and I, the first person to find it gets to open the first present. When my sister and I were little we would race downstairs to figure out where the pickle was on the tree. Now that we’re older, it doesn’t seem like it matters who gets to open the first present. Growing up, especially around Christmas time is weird but I’ve grown up to realize the real meaning of Christmas.
Christmas means, to me, that I get to spend time with my family. It doesn’t matter who gets to open the first present anymore because presents aren’t what matters at Christmas. What matters is that I’m around people that I love and quality time with those people can’t be replaced by materialistic gifts that used to consume the meaning of Christmas.
I do miss the excitement of Christmas. Although I will always be a person that gets excited for Christmas, there’s nothing like a kid’s excitement for Christmas. We still do all of the traditions that we did when I was younger. However, it means so much more to me now that I realize all the little things my mom and dad would do to make Christmas special because of the excitement we got from the traditions. I can look back on my Christmases as a kid and be grateful for all the things that were created as traditions in my family.