Tradition in New Jersey is that during the Christmas season Santa rides around town accompanied by the local fire trucks and the wailing of sirens. In my town, that happens on Christmas Eve. It’s not restful but it is exciting. Here at Sassafras House, we’re long past the anticipatory excitement of waiting for Santa on Christmas Eve. As we hear the fire trucks roll through town, we make jokes about not having a fire at this hour. But my neighbor’s two year old M nearly lost his mind waiting for Santa to roll down the street and I enjoyed some memories as I watched.
I remembered the year JT and I drove home from singing Christmas carols on Christmas Eve and the local radio station reported that Santa had already been seen in New Jersey. From the back seat, the tension oozed forward as JT feared Santa would skip our house because he wasn’t asleep. I remembered the year one of our Christmas Eve luminaries caught fire in the front yard. I remembered all the years I snuck around after JT was tucked into bed, constructing elaborate Playmobil villages for Santa to leave on Christmas Eve. I remembered the joy of tracking Santa's journey with Norad, as our excitement built. I remembered the blessings of a boy who believed in Santa long after it was reasonable to do so.
Then M from across the street, impatient and excited for Santa to roll down the street, punched the blow up snowman in his yard. T and I laughed.
Christmas isn’t always perfect and sirens and horns are hardly peaceful, but I am blessed to have a warm home, a soft bed, and family I love. That’s worthy of a celebration.
Happy Christmas Eve, y'all. May you have laughter and good memories to enjoy!
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