My favorite Christmas gift as a child was in 1967, when I was seven years old. Christmas Eves were reserved for a family gathering, usually at the home of my Aunt Mary and Uncle Mike in Syracuse. But in '67, for whatever reason, Christmas Eve was instead at Uncle Tot and Aunt Marian's house, also in Syracuse. This temporary change in Christmas Eve locale is an incidental detail; I remember the evening because my aunts and uncles had conspired to give me almost all of the accessories-sold-separately meant to accompany the new superhero action figure, Captain Action. Captain Action could change into nine other famous superheroes, and I received the complete costume packs for all but one of our Cap's alter egos: Superman, Batman, Aquaman, Flash Gordon, The Phantom, Steve Canyon, The Lone Ranger, and Captain America. The only one missing was Sgt. Fury, and of course the Captain Action doll itself. The next morning, I was properly amazed to discover that Santa Claus had completed my Captain Action collection by leaving those last two items under our tree. Thanks, Saint Nick! And thanks, Mom and Dad--I suspect you may have had something to do with it, too.
I loved all of my Captain Action stuff, and played with them for years thereafter. They did not survive their rough and tumble existence as a child's playthings, so I no longer have them. But I thoroughly enjoyed trashing them with love and affection, and those happy memories remain vivid and immediate.
Christmas still inspires a warm and comfy feeling in my mind. There have been Yuletime moments that were less than glittery--developing car trouble on a snowy trek to Missouri in 1970, spending Christmas alone with a stack of old comic books and a bottle of Jack Daniels in 1982, suddenly having to fly to Ohio for a funeral in the early '90s, stuck home with chicken pox at the age of 36 in 1996, the first Christmas after a devastating family tragedy in 2008, and after my Dad died in 2012--yet I retain an instinct to associate Christmas with a feeling of happiness. The sadness is there, too; I see the empty chairs at the dinner table, I feel the drag of sand falling in the hourglass, I sense the finite nature of all we love. This Christmas has offered its own unique set of challenges. Sometimes it seems as if there are challenges poised to attack from all directions.
And nonetheless: I love Christmas. I hope I always will. I hope yours is merry and bright. The challenges will wait for us, at least for a little, little bit. A spin of Nat King Cole. A sip of eggnog. A tree that casts its glow into our hearts. Presents to exchange, fleeting moments to share, food to savor, company to enjoy. It will not last forever.
Except that it does. I can still be seven years old, if only for one day. Maybe you can be, too.
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