The Most Wonderful Time of Year

When I was a little girl, every year immediately following Thanksgiving dinner, my mind would automatically go to one thing, Christmas time. I would beg my grandparents to get down the Christmas tree and ornaments so we could decorate them that night. After a wait, my grandpa would pull down the ladder the attic and climb up. Each year I would ask to go up to help, but would always be told no, my grandma was always sure that I would fall down the ladder.

I always loved picking the perfect place on the tree for each ornament. I was so proud of the work that I did. At night, when the lights were off, I would stand in the living room, appreciating the different colors of the Christmas lights. There was such a joy that would come over me as I just there quietly.

Christmas Eve would come, and that night, the entire family would sit around the living room with wrapped presents surrounding the tree. I would always be in charge of passing out the presents to everyone. I would make a game out of it, as if I was a game show host giving out prizes. I was always surprised each year watching my little sister and cousins getting the same light up glow worm doll, asking why I was the only one that never had one. I was told that they didn't make them when I was little, instead I had a Teddy Ruxpin Doll.

But my favorite time was the next morning, when I would wake up to run into the living room to find unwrapped presents everywhere for me. Santa had been there. I remember years of Barbie dolls, clothes, doll houses, which turned to cd's, makeup, and clothes. Long after I had stopped believing in Santa, it remained a tradition.

When I was seven, I announced that I was too old for Santa after much teaching from and uncle and cousin about having to go to bed early. I wasn't going to be outdone by the older kids, I was going to show them that I could keep up with them. I knew that this meant that Santa would most definitely go over my house, but I didn't care. I was growing up. Eventually, I grew too tired to stay up any longer, and I went to bed. The next morning, I woke up in shock when my grandma told me to go to the living room. I didn't know why, I had retaliated against Sant. However, my face quickly lit up when I went in to see, like every year, Barbie dolls, clothes, and other things on my wish list. It was as though Santa was telling my he was still there, he knew why I had done what I did, and he understood.

I was about eleven, when Mampau suddenly announced to me in anger that there was no Santa. Of course, by this point, I had known for years, but still, in a way, it was the end of an era. There would still be Santa gifts under the tree, but it was known that I was pretending to believe it was from Santa.

Every year, there was also something else that happened. I would find myself making a wish. It was always something small, like a traffic light quickly turning green so that I wouldn't be late for school, or a snow day so that I could get an extra day for Christmas break, or that a Beatles movie would be on tv, because seriously, it's the Beatles. But then it would happen, I would be on time for school, I would wake up in the morning to a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows and snow ball fights, or I would be allowed to stay up way past my bedtime to watch the Beatles. In my mind, it was the universe giving me a present.

Looking back at these Chrismases of past, I still smile. A lot of times, when we grow up, Christmas changes its meanings, it becomes more commericialized, seeing who can get the best deals the quickest. But if we look back and remember what Christmas meant when we were kids. We were able to believe in the impossible. Magic was real and all around us, in each snow flake or cup of hot chocolate. Inside, I'm still that little girl from all those uears ago, my face lights up with the Christmas lights. And I can't wait to see what the universe will give me as my Christmas gift this year.