Children give as much or more as they get at Christmas.
And Dec. 25 is all about children, or should be, especially as you look at a family’s generations.
When I was a kid, growing up in a little near-northern Ontario town, Christmas was a time of great excitement.
Sure, you were trying really hard to be good, at least from December on, so you didn’t end up with a lump of coal in your Christmas stocking (we never did, although that possibility was mentioned a time or two by our parents).
But mostly Christmastime was excitement — not only for the presents you had coming your way, but for the turkey dinner and the reaction others had toward your presents for them. Sometimes the joke was on them, when they got something you liked.
We were a large family, six kids and usually a dog who got into just enough trouble to be noticed.
For some reason, on the morning of Dec. 25, our parents used to line us up in the hallway leading to the living room, where the Christmas tree and fireplace were situated, not to mention all the presents, line us up from youngest to oldest. Probably so the young ones wouldn’t stampede the others in their excitement to get at their presents.
Or maybe it was acknowledgement that little ones got to see Christmas first because they were most excited.
My dad used to go out into the living room to turn on the Christmas tree lights and make sure, as he said, that “Santa Claus had actually come” to our house, given the jolly old elf had other stops to make, where kids who had been good lived.
The rest of Christmas morning was usually a blur of ripped wrapping paper, boxes being torn open, delight at your gift, or faked delight if it was just socks or other clothes, which kids can get anytime of the year (clothing is fine once you’re all grown up, of course).
And once you are all grown up, you need to get that sort of Christmas excitement from your own kids.
We were living in Barrie by then, in the early to mid-1990s, and I was with the Barrie Examiner (long before the Great Newspaper Swindle of 2017).
My kids were always tremendously excited at Christmastime, probably because of all the loot, not to mention candy, they got that morning.
Their parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles spoiled them, to put it mildly.
I remember my son’s first Christmas, with presents piled from the tree in the living room right out and into the hallway.
He was less than a month old and didn’t seem to notice the toys just for him -— which he wouldn’t and couldn’t play with for months.
My daughter was a little older for her first Christmas, about six months, and spent much of the big day playing with an empty shoe box, perfectly content.
The shoe box did, I remember, have very shiny Christmas paper — until she tore it off.
My kids are 32 and 29 now, so things have changed.
But not really for Christmas.
My grandson is the focus now. He’s about one and a half years old, walking, talking lots and is fully capable of getting over-excited for Christmas.
Most likely he will get a new ball for Christmas from someone (likely his grandfather) and spend most of the day playing catch with me and saying his favourite word, which is “ball”.
Then over-eat the Christmas dinner, which is another tradition for males in our family.
I’m lucky there have always been children around at Christmastime, whether my siblings, nephews, children or grandson.
Because let’s face it, Christmas can be a bit of a slog for adults — fighting the crowds to buy presents, checking the front porch for deliverables, getting a tree, hanging the lights, buying more presents, visiting friends and family, etc., etc. Then more running around on the big day.
By the 25th you just want to sit down for a while.
But the kids won’t let you, as their excitement is contagious.
It literally rubs off on me. I wouldn’t have it any other way, and never will.
Bob Bruton covers city council for BarrieToday. He wishes you a Merry Christmas, and hopes there are children near.
