I remember Christmas clearly as a kid. Especially the night before. I’d lay in bed all night, in my new Christmas pajamas, wide awake. I knew the next morning would be the best feeling I would have all year. I knew there would be presents and cocoa and delicious breakfast and a fire. Somewhere around midnight I would start to sing Christmas carols to myself to try and fall asleep. Somewhere around 1am I would finally drift off. But at 6am sharp, my eyes would snap open. My parents would be rustling under the tree, finishing last minute preparations, getting coffee started. It was Christmas.
Yes, Christmas started for us as 6am. Every parent’s nightmare. But there’s something even more magical about opening presents when it’s still dark out. Like you didn’t miss a moment of the best day of the year. You even had more time than the sun to enjoy it. First the stockings, then, one by one, we’d open our presents. I was usually the designated “Santa” who would pass out the gifts to everyone else. It’s an art, truly. You have to make sure everyone, no matter how many gifts they did or didn’t get, ends at the same time. Then there was the best breakfast of the year.
It usually wasn’t until after breakfast that the true excitement of the new gifts set in. I’d go back to the tree while my parents did dishes and revisit all my new things, finding places for them in my room. After fighting the internal battle of tired vs. excited for a few hours, it was time for a nap. Given, this nap was taken around the time most people were just waking up to start their Christmas morning.
Christmas is different now. Christmas is different as an adult. I’m hesitant to decide if it’s better or worse. For a few years, I felt like Christmas had lost its magic, and then I realized I had just taken a new role. Once I embraced that role, though, the magic returned. As an adult, giving gifts is honestly such an exciting part of the Christmas experience.
As a kid, every year, I would buy my mom a candle and my dad a flashlight (with their money) and completely forget about it until they opened it. I didn’t care if they liked it or not, I just wanted it to be my turn again to open a gift. But as an adult, every gift you give feels like it could possibly change the receiver's life a little.
I know everyone doesn’t feel this way. Gift-giving is one of my “love languages” so it’s especially exciting for me. But it’s not the materialism of the gift, nor the price, or even the practical purpose it serves. It’s that it tells someone you know them. That when someone opens your gift they feel seen and understood because you found something that represents them in this small way. I think when you embrace the giving of gifts in that way, and find your role as a giver and not a getter during Christmas, the magic of childhood can return.
