As a teenager I was horrified to find out that my grandparents did not exchange gifts at Christmas. I was at the stage of life where I still had a list of things I wanted and could not imagine that my beloved grandparents did not have similar lists. They certainly made sure things were under the tree for me, which always included a book that I devoured on the lazy afternoon that followed the mayhem of Christmas morning.
Now I am at their stage of life, and I fully understand why they did not exchange gifts. I am at the point where I am beginning to divest myself of things, and I certainly do not need any more stuff pouring into my house. All I want is to see the people I love on that special day, remember what Christmas is truly about, and see their joy when they receive something that is on their list. I have even taken one step back from the hectic shopping, as this year’s gifts are probably going to be checks for them to get what they truly want.
This distillation of Christmas is a relief in a way. I am no longer preparing the roast beef on Christmas Eve, followed by the meal on the day itself. I have been eased from the director of the movie called Christmas to one of the important, but bit players in the background. There is a liberation in this. I can watch as families create new traditions for themselves and relax on the sidelines as life swirls around me. It turns out that the eighties can be very relaxing and fulfilling, but in a quiet, joy-filled way.