Five years ago I wrote of the traditions of Christmas that were ending for me, due to the changes in my life, and I spoke of starting new traditions. There are a few customs which I have started since then, a message such as this being one of them, but I am looking forward this year to rekindling one tradition that my Mum and I used to share. Every year on Christmas Eve, from when I was a baby until I was maybe eight years old, my mum would read me a poem which is entitled He Comes in the Night, and this year, before Michelle and I relax on the couch with some hot chocolate and watch It's a Wonderful Life I will read the poem to my son.
This is Nathan's first Christmas and our first Christmas as a family. At nineteen weeks old Nathan is, of course, too little to understand Christmas, though he does like the tree and seems to enjoy the Christmas songs we sing to him. Last year I had written, quite stupidly, that I did not see the sense in getting baby gifts at Christmas. While I still remember the logic of that line of thought, I know that if I had not said it and heard it elsewhere now I would find the very idea abhorrent. Nathan's daddy is very much looking forward to helping his sons tiny and uncoordinated hands rip open the gifts that he has gotten his baby boy.
Change has been the defining characteristic of this year. There have been beginnings, endings and new beginnings over the year, and not just for me. Some were happy changes like mine, some were sad and some were bittersweet. Lives and relationships have altered dramatically as priorities and perceptions shifted. It has not been an easy year and the same can be said for too many of the years recently past, but now more than ever I look forward to what the new year will bring. For quite a few people I know there is much to look forward to indeed.
Christmas has always been a time for me when I try (I said try) to be positive. Santa's rules of no shouting, pouting or crying are a good rule of thumb for this season, and good will to all men (and women) seems to me to be a reasonably good idea too. For a few days I urge you all to enjoy what you have rather than bemoan what you do not. There will be plenty of time to worry another time.
Have a great Christmas everyone, I wish nothing but the best for you all.
I'll leave you with the poem I will be reading to Nathan:
HE comes in the night! He comes in the night!
He softly, silently comes;
While the little brown heads on the pillows so white
Are dreaming of bugles and drums.
He cuts through the snow like a ship through the foam,
While the white flakes around him whirl;
Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home
Of each good little boy and girl.
His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide;
It will carry a host of things,
While dozens of drums hang over the side,
With the sticks sticking under the strings.
And yet not the sound of a drum is heard,
Not a bugle blast is blown,
As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird,
And drops to the hearth like a stone.
The little red stockings he silently fills
Till the stockings will hold no more;
The bright little sleds for the great snow hills
Are quickly set down on the floor.
Then Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird,
And glides to his seat in the sleigh;
Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard
As he noiselessly gallops away.
He rides to the East, and he rides to the West,
Of his goodies he touches not one;
He eateth the crumbs of the Christmas feast
When the dear little folks are done.
Old Santa Claus doeth all he can,
This beautiful mission is his;
Then, children, be good to the little old man
When you find who the little man is.
were so deep that I had to walk down the main road and I had to push three cars to get them moving-