Along the way, I learned that Christmas traditions are outgrown. When my sons sat in the car instead of helping choose our Christmas tree—they claimed it was too cold—I was dismayed. I thought my high schoolers had turned into Scrooges until I remembered my mother’s disappointment when I said, “I’d rather get back to the dorm. Decorate the tree without me.”
When my sons were no longer interested in seeing the White House Christmas tree, I remembered my father’s disappointment when he said, “Pilot Life has its Creche displayed. Who wants to go see it?” and my siblings and I declined.
Eventually, my sons will grow old enough to return to the festivities they enjoyed when they were younger. Until then, the generation gap amuses me.
Along the way, I also learned that my sons’ return will be on their terms. I mustn’t mind when they dismiss the Festival of Lights with my husband and me and then plan a similar outing in another city with their dates. (This really happened.)
P.S. My children never outgrew Christmas food or Christmas worship services.
