Chasing Christmas

This day used to be magic.

The best Christmas I ever had was probably the year I got Nintendo. I think it was 1993. I was ten. My siblings and I screamed when we opened the present. Ours came with Super Mario 3, which I still think is the world’s best video game.

Yeah, that was definitely the best Christmas.

I had one or two more good Christmases, and then they were pretty shitty for a while. When I was 12, we moved to a new town. The kids at my new school bullied me mercilessly. They called me “Ben-Gay.” Then my parents split up.

A lot of really depressing Christmases followed. Many of you probably know how this goes: you and your siblings and whichever parent you happen to be with that year spend the day trying to chase the magic of the past, refusing to accept that it’s gone forever. Old family traditions, once comforting, start to feel embarrassing. Then one year it’s just you and your mother because everyone else is with their significant others’ families, and you haven’t seen your dad since April. Another year, the family cat goes missing.

It takes a while, but eventually there comes a Christmas when you finally accept it: the past is never coming back. And neither is the cat.

It’s a little sad at first, but soon it’s a relief. It’s a relief to give up the chase, which by now you know for sure always ends in disappointment. Christmases might no longer joyful, but they can be pleasant.

New additions to the family definitely help. My best grown-up Christmas was the year my oldest sister had her first child. He was born on Halloween, so two months later we were all fighting over a chunky little baby dressed as an elf. It was amazing. I had never seen my mother so happy.

Finding a partner also helps. The first couple of Christmases that my husband and I were dating, he spent with his family in Ohio while I stayed home in Maryland, so that wasn’t great, although it did feel good to miss someone. Then we moved in together, and Christmases became fun again, though very expensive. Instead of Target, the tree now came from Restoration Hardware. We gifted like we were Rockefellers. The year we got engaged, he got me the new Nintendo.

Now, it’s 7:42am on Christmas morning, 2024. My husband is still sleeping, though he should be up soon. I’ve switched on the Christmas tree lights and the ceramic gingerbread houses, brewed some coffee, taken out the trash, smoked a cigarette. The first person to tell me Merry Christmas was a lady wheeling a suitcase behind her. I think she’d just come from Penn Station.

I hesitate to say it, but I think this year might beat the year my first nephew was born. Not because things are perfect, by any means. But they’re realer than they’ve ever been. More honest. My husband and I have been married for ten years now, so I’m more honest with him, yes. But I’m also more honest with myself. It feels good. Sometimes even joyful.

OK, he’s up.

“Where’s my damn breakfast?” he says, joking.

I told him I’d make him eggs and bacon, and some cinnamon buns.

OK, I’m off. Merry Christmas.