Around me, among those who, like me, have no children, I have seen a distinct lack of Christmas cheer. It seems most have forgotten what Christmas used to mean to them, thinking of it as a child’s holiday. However, I still wake up early on Christmas morning like I used to as a child. As an adult, I may not show it as much, but I’m still as excited by Christmas as when I was a child.
Why? Because, I know Santa and Mrs. Claus are real. No, I don’t believe Santa is a jolly fat man that rides around the world in a sleigh drawn by flying reindeer. Instead, my Santa is a man who spent his life as a brick and block layer, working hard to support his family. These days, he likes relaxing in his living room, watching Modern Family and Big Bang Theory. Mrs. Claus is a woman who spent my whole life looking after me, first as a disabled child and now as a disabled adult. She like sewing and knitting, and keeping up with her emails and Facebook.
Christmas never lost its appeal to me, because even when I found out Santa’s real identity, I knew enough to make the connection. All those years, it was them who made Christmas special for me, not some man in a red coat.
When I was a child, Christmas was exciting because of the presents I would get. These days, it is more about returning the favour. It is far more exciting for me, now, to give my parents presents that will make them as happy as the toys they once gave me.