Semi-Sage on the Season
We put up our Christmas tree this week. Bill did all the hard, boring work, schlepping in the tree, getting the lights to work and bringing down all its trappings from the overhead closet cabinets. Then Leila and I swooped in for decoration. She and I work very differently. She is very efficient, removing the ornament from the box, seeing if it has a working hanger and then getting in onto the tree with no muss nor fuss. Granted, her side of the tree is bunched up and crowded, but she sure gets everything up there.
I work a lot more slowly. I look at every ornament and remember where it came from. I have the ancient old bulbs from my mother and grandmothers that I remember from my childhood. I have construction paper stockings, paper plate angels and cotton ball snowmen from my children’s early art education. And I have the beautiful classy ornaments that have been gifts from friends and family over the years. When you put them all together, they are a gorgeous mishmash of memory and meaning, that makes the Christmas tree sparkle with more than just twinkle lights.
Leila, although now in her twenties, still believes in Santa Claus. She saw him at her workplace this week, along with Mrs. Claus. She told me that she had assured him that she was on the "nice list" and that I was too. It’s always good to get her vote of confidence.
I worry about whether I should let this belief continue as the sweet, precious thing that it is, or should I insist that Leila be more age appropriate. Early in my tenure as parent of a handicapped person I was warned that if I treat my daughter like a baby, she will always be one. I have...or more truthfully, WE have worked hard over the years to foster maturity and independence. And within the limitations that God has given her, she’s certainly had her share of successes on that score.
How valuable is the truth really? They say it will make you free, but I’m wondering, in this instance, free from what? Free from imagining that there is a weird guy in a red suit who consorts with elves and devotes himself wholeheartedly to ho-ho-ho-ing and gift giving. Free to believe that religious holidays always have to be somber occasions of prayer and self-reflection, divorced from candy and commercialism. Free to own the knowledge that reindeer do not fly and that their hoofs on a clay tile roof would cause considerable damage, difficult to claim on your home insurance. Or maybe it’s just free from the burden of maintaining ones place on the "nice list". As a motivation, that’s not really so bad.
I love my brain and I appreciate how it can hold lots of conflicting ideas, beliefs and emotions at the same time. I love how it allows me to look up at my Christmas tree and genuinely smile, even as my eyes fill with tears. But, I’m pretty enamored of Leila’s brain, too. Simple, straightforward and satisfied with the explanation that if you are good all year, someone will notice and leave a thank-you trinket in your stocking.
I hope you find one in yours. Merry Christmas!
I work a lot more slowly. I look at every ornament and remember where it came from. I have the ancient old bulbs from my mother and grandmothers that I remember from my childhood. I have construction paper stockings, paper plate angels and cotton ball snowmen from my children’s early art education. And I have the beautiful classy ornaments that have been gifts from friends and family over the years. When you put them all together, they are a gorgeous mishmash of memory and meaning, that makes the Christmas tree sparkle with more than just twinkle lights.
Leila, although now in her twenties, still believes in Santa Claus. She saw him at her workplace this week, along with Mrs. Claus. She told me that she had assured him that she was on the "nice list" and that I was too. It’s always good to get her vote of confidence.
I worry about whether I should let this belief continue as the sweet, precious thing that it is, or should I insist that Leila be more age appropriate. Early in my tenure as parent of a handicapped person I was warned that if I treat my daughter like a baby, she will always be one. I have...or more truthfully, WE have worked hard over the years to foster maturity and independence. And within the limitations that God has given her, she’s certainly had her share of successes on that score.
How valuable is the truth really? They say it will make you free, but I’m wondering, in this instance, free from what? Free from imagining that there is a weird guy in a red suit who consorts with elves and devotes himself wholeheartedly to ho-ho-ho-ing and gift giving. Free to believe that religious holidays always have to be somber occasions of prayer and self-reflection, divorced from candy and commercialism. Free to own the knowledge that reindeer do not fly and that their hoofs on a clay tile roof would cause considerable damage, difficult to claim on your home insurance. Or maybe it’s just free from the burden of maintaining ones place on the "nice list". As a motivation, that’s not really so bad.
I love my brain and I appreciate how it can hold lots of conflicting ideas, beliefs and emotions at the same time. I love how it allows me to look up at my Christmas tree and genuinely smile, even as my eyes fill with tears. But, I’m pretty enamored of Leila’s brain, too. Simple, straightforward and satisfied with the explanation that if you are good all year, someone will notice and leave a thank-you trinket in your stocking.
I hope you find one in yours. Merry Christmas!
posted by Pamela Morsi | 8:40 AM
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