Christmas Eve is where it's at

Christmas Eve is where it's at.  Christmas Day is Sunday to me.  It's the day when all is hopeful, and Christmas is still in front of us.  It's here but not over.  So close, but not far away.  People are full of cheer. Judgement is cast aside to be dealt another day that we all hope might never come.  It's the end of both a great year, and even a year that was a let down.  Or it can be the beginning of the year that brings change and new dreams for everyone. Friends both close and far away connect, and come together.  Family forgets the sadness, and old disagreements are assuaged in lieu of the pleasant memories.  They are the fruition of the season building to that fateful night before-- when the magic of Christmas overwhelms all of us.

The day of Christmas is often a let down.  We aren't able to do the things we might have planned.  Sometimes we don't get to see all the people that we had hoped to see.  We eat too damn much.  And when it's over we are exhausted and know that just on the horizon we have the worst day of the year.  The day we put Christmas away for another year.  

I know this isn't a guarantee, and not everyone's experience.  I can testify to the consistency in it's occurrence in my life. I don't know when this happened. I can remember as a kid getting the chance to select one gift from under the tree to open.  My sister and I were pretty good at guessing what was in the packages through our thorough inspection and interrogation of mom.  I can remember that being a tradition well before I had a family of my own, and carried it on.  I don't know if this is the reasons why... Or is it because when I was the recipient of all the gifts, and not "responsible" for providing it I'm sure Christmas was the best part. As the facilitator of the festivities, and one that has to go back to work the next day it is a fleeting moment...Christmas. The joy of childhood, and the debilitating anticipation of what's to come is a feeling that I don't know if I can ever feel again. I am able to feel some of that with my children, but it's not and never will be the same.  

A life in retail has to be an influence.  I've spent years corralling the curmudgeons and schmoozing the scrooges in stores up to the last minute of many a holiday season.  Despite spending over a decade in stores working more and more hours, and getting less and less of a holiday-- I still maintained my affinity for Christmas.  A testament to the power of a holiday that Capitalism has attempted to squeeze out every penny, and still it endures.  But no that's not it.  

It's something special.  Something the music, the films, the stories have gallantly attempted to capture and still can't truly permeate our weary hearts and soulless society.  It's in the loves of our lives, the laughter of our daugthers, and the wideness of our sons eyes.  It's in catching our children looking out the window in the hopes of seeing what we all hope and believe to be true despite the naysayers.  It's the magic of Father Christmas, the nativity, and the tradition.  

So for me, it's the Night Before Christmas.  The day when I feel love and feel the love of friends here, and long gone.  I can see the memories of Christmas past cycling through my mind like a old, rusty projector winding in stereo as I see the images of my Christmases go through my mind.  I wonder about the people that I haven't spoke to that have impacted me one way or another in my life, and I wish them a Merry Christmas in silent prayer.  The music is just right, the holiday movies are welcome, and the eggnog is never too sweet..  I wish everyone a very Happy Christmas Eve, and a blessed holiday.  Forgive and forget.  Let's heal the wounds and celebrate the ties that bind us.  Merry Christmas.

The Perfect Days

The time spent with your children is maddening yet fleeting.  Every morning you're awaken by a kid that is different then the one you put to bed.  Sometimes the change goes unnoticed and others can be more significant like a new word or their head overcomes the height of the bed. Every word or word-like thing they say changes, and fades away in the clutter of routine.  All you have are the pictures on your iphone, or what's scrolling across your screensaver to offer a distant memory of these perfect days.  The days when you had it all and didn't even know you were basking in the warm glow of perfection achieved. 

The last few months for me have been very special.  I've never been so tired, and happy at the same time.  As a father you try so hard to keep your kids happy and entertained, while simultaneously teaching them some profound lesson about life.  You don't want them to grow up ill-equipped to handle the perils of adult heartbreak, failure, and overwhelming cynicism. I've spent more time than most fathers are afforded at this point in my life.  We've worn out the Chicfila playground, the Waynesboro playground, GypsyHill Park playground--then we've ventured out of the city to the Bounce-House in Charlottesville and on to the next adventure all in the hopes of expending that limitless energy with the feint hope of a moment to shut your eyes and take a breath.  (If we could only harness this energy we could power the world for the cost of a juice box.) As all of you with children know, that energy is theirs and only theirs, and it's exhausting. 

This year I've spent mornings getting them ready, pulling together a breakfast--usually cereal or a cereal bar and fruit. Then I rush Aubrey to school.  Liam and I then sojourn to the house or run some type of errand.  The morning is usually full of Skylander Giants, or Batman.  Then the questions that he asks, that have no answer that suits his infinite imagination. I then usually try to get him to take a nap, and try in the most futile sense of the word.  We usually grab some type of lunch from the house.  In the afternoon I try to preoccupy him as much as I can so I can get some things done around the house.  After all of that failure, I go and pick up my darling at school.  This is one of the most precious memories I will try to hold on.  The dropping off, and picking up of Aubrey is truly a memory worth fighting for.  She saunters to the door, and ever so gracefully adorable she looks back at the car, and waves and smiles.  When I pick her up she is so excited to see me.  She tells the teacher that I'm her daddy, and points with such happiness on her face.  It's hard to tell where the smile starts, you would assume the face, but I can feel it from inside.  

My children have reinvented me, once the engineer of my next great distraction to the purveyor of their laugh, and the passenger on their next flight from the mundane. I would be lying if I said that every moment was this warm glowing image of happiness and laughter, but that's part of the journey of parenthood. Sometimes it's raising your voice and the surfacing of your parental ire so often for the most insignificant of infractions.  I imagine that my transgressions as a parent, to this day, are quite common and in fact--expected.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      And I think we all have to come to terms with that.

As I imagine the kind of kid, I can't help but think of the life that is in front of Aubrey and Liam.  Will they have the friends that I've had? Will they have some of the same crippling fears, and passionate beliefs? I know that my parents were not perfect, and yet they were.  Both in their own ways.  Because being a great parent isn't about being perfect, it's about the mistakes and the growth where we are weak or remiss in the moment.  When it's all said and done, the lessons learned are both profound and sometime unemphatic.  For the children, as well as the parents these moments are precious.  

I can't be more blessed.  I hope to bestow them the same blessings as they reflect back on this time that we've had together.  As we all know-- we never get this time back.  

Where do we go from here America?

Amid all the tragedy this week the sun still rises for most of us.
The empathetic soul of America is stronger than its ever been.
Everyone wants to weigh in. Some with a more humble spirit,
and heavy heart. Others not so much... Instead of taking political
potshots at the less sophisticated thinkers of the world. Let's share the numerous stories of profound sacrifice and heroism.

It has become fashionable to dwell, and commiserate with each other
versus lift each other up. I'm so tired of hearing how bad
the economy is, and how bleak our future is and will be. What I would like to hear is some form of optimism, however, depending on where it's coming from only a few will see it as hope versus spin.

Only in these moments of national mourning, and ground swell of
patriotism do we somehow come together. It's not
even a hopefullness that arises, it's more of a gathering of hands.
This unity is something that shouldn't need a harrowing catalyst.
We are the same cast of principle characters. We have to stop
doubting the intentions of our neighbors, and assuming the worst
case scenario for every new idea.

There are some Americans that want some version of our nations history that is not possible, and we can't repeat. On the contrary, some are drawn to that connection and community that is enabled by our smartphones and computers to share everything, but still pine for those days of simple solitude of 50's America. We want it both ways.

There's the other side of America that wants more, and isn't
satisfied with accepting the way our Grandparents believed and
accepted. No offense to their elders but they want more freedom,
when it comes to what they do with their lives, their bodies, and
their privates. It's this divergence of ideas that are very
similar in theme but different in content.

This nation needs to reflect on these days of tragedy, and in
earnest, break from this habitual hatred for what we proclaim
to be so proud of --our democracy. As a nation of immigrants,
with different values and faiths, we are proud of this diveristy
on one hand and angrly opposed to the very thing that made us
great. A nation of pioneers, and pilgrims, and yes... the darker side of our history slaves and conquerors. From these individuals we have grown into the most powerful country in the world. Yet we can't
accept the fact that our lives are all valuable, and worthy of the
American dream. It's only in the chaos of imagery we now
see 24 hours a day, and exploited and bastardized on
Facebook like some elaborate game of telephone that we set aside our differences and judgement.

Is it now American that tragedy is the only thing that brings us
together? We should stand up for each other now, and accept
that the very qualities that make us different are also what
makes our idealism stronger. A constitution that allows us
guns centuries ago, doesn't necessarily allow us the most
technologically advanced weaponry available. Yes, I get it
the government makes you uncomfortable with all that
"power". Did it make you uncomfortable when it got the
right to tap all of our computers and telephones? Are we
so accepting of the idea that freedom is somehow an absolute
that can't be discussed in our great democracy? Immigration
we've accepted as a problem with the only way to fix it is
to deny the very same way our families once arrived on this
land centuries ago? Is it beyond our capacity as Americans
to discuss these very polarizing differences without assuming that because they are different, they are evil. It's not our freedom, it's the fact that we don't just fall in line. We are adaptable, and we can compromise. That's what's hard to figure out. The countries that don't have this capability, or freedom --hate us because of our capacity to work together even though we don't all have the same faith, and creed. That's American.

I'm so tired of the hate, and shame that comes from being in
dissent of the majority. This passive-aggresive bullying
that occurs in so many families, and social circles where
brother and sister talk down to each other, and belittle the
so-called "ignorance" of their family member because they
read a blog, or a chain-mail, or Uncle Rush told them so.
That is not American, no matter how loud they say it or
how much they cover themselves in Red, White, and Blue.
That is not patriotism, that's fanatacism not unlike having
your dog, car, and house decorated in your favorite team's
colors and logos.

Let's learn from these moments where American's rich and
poor, democrat and republican, and christian and
non-believers reach out for each others hands, and help each
other up from the blood and ash. I love this country, but I
can say without a doubt that we aren't perfect, and we never
have been. But we all will come together and fight for it
when the time comes. We all get that rush of blood up our
neck when we hear the national anthem, or our president say
"You're with us, or your against us." We are at the tipping
point, let's push through not fall. There's too much at stake. God bless America. God bless Boston.