On passing the torch and finding new magic
I did a lot of reflecting this past holiday season on how much things have shifted in just a few short years.
The first change is the strangeness of no longer being the kid at Christmas, but being the mom instead. I don’t spring out of bed at dawn anymore, tiptoeing into the living room to see mountains of gifts — some from “Santa,” some signed “Love, Mom and Dad.” These days, I sleep in as long as I can. The fluttering anticipation that once tied my stomach in knots on Christmas Eve has faded. Instead, I feel tired. Will I ever feel that same pulse of excitement again? There was nothing quite like that Christmas Eve feeling, and maybe it’s gone for good.
With adulthood comes changing traditions. When I was growing up, my large extended family always gathered at Christmas. Even if we didn’t see each other all year, I knew I would see my aunts, uncles, and cousins on Christmas Eve (minus my Florida grandparents, who wisely avoided the snow). It was the one night that brought everyone home. But times are changing, and not everyone makes it back anymore. A month before Christmas, when no one had mentioned plans, I panicked — texting the group, suggesting a gift exchange, even offering to host. Thankfully, my aunt took over, but I realized just how deeply the thought of skipping our annual gathering unsettled me. I’m not a naturally social person, but family is family. Christmas doesn’t feel right without them.
Christmas Eve itself was different this year. Fun and festive, yes, but not the same as the Christmases of my childhood. One cousin was noticeably absent. It wasn’t at my parents’ house, where it always had been. We didn’t track Santa — the first generation of cousins is too old now, and the new generation, Caleb and his crew, are still too young. The anxious, magical countdown to Santa was gone. Instead of putting on the elaborate “pageant” we once staged in my dad’s studio — complete with costumes, a script, and weeks of rehearsal — my cousins and I just laughed and reminisced about those days. (And trust me, I wouldn’t do it again, even for money.)
Things were different, but different doesn’t always mean bad.
In an attempt to “make Christmas Eve great again,” I organized a gift card exchange for the adults and brought along some games (the Saran Wrap ball game, Hershey Kisses unwrapping with oven mitts) complete with prizes. Instead of anticipating Santa, I found myself looking forward to laughter, competition, and the fun of playing together.
And the truth is, Caleb and his cousins are the new “kids of Christmas” now. Two of the three are still too young to really understand it all, but they tore around with new toys and huge smiles. When Caleb got tired, he snuck away to my cousin’s room, curled up on her bed with his giant new pillow pet, and drifted off — proof that for them, Christmas is still pure magic, even if they don’t recognize it yet.
I don’t know what next Christmas will look like. I hope it brings us all together again. I hope the kids will be old enough to feel that electric Santa anticipation, to beg us to track his sleigh, maybe even to put on silly plays of their own. I hope one morning I’ll stumble out of bed at 5 a.m. because my child simply can’t contain his excitement — just like I used to do.
But maybe it won’t be that way. Maybe there will never be another play. Maybe we’ll never celebrate Christmas Eve at my parents’ house again, beside the artificial tree dusted with fake snow. Maybe we’ll never eat mini hot dogs in barbecue sauce. Maybe my cousin won’t come home again. Maybe things will keep shifting further from what I once knew.
And maybe that’s okay.
Traditions change because life changes. The torch of Christmas wonder passes from one set of kids to the next. The old ways may fade, but that leaves room for something new.
Whatever happens next Christmas, I’ll embrace it with open arms. It’s no longer about recreating my childhood holidays. It’s about letting the new kids of Christmas make it their own.
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