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With the holidays approaching, my attention turns to remembering Christmases past -- those years when I still had my dad and my grandparents. When my children were small and the wonder of Christmas morning simply made life completely worth living.
While Christmas is the day to celebrate and reflect upon the greatest miracle God ever presented us with -- his son, Jesus, I have always found myself partial to Christmas Eve -- my favorite day of the year.
Perhaps it is the anticipation of Christmas morning or the array of foods everyone would take part in sharing at my mother's house throughout the afternoon. That feeling of togetherness. My mom was always kind enough to include my father and his wife. She has always had the kindest heart, which she undeniably received from her mother.
But just those few hours of togetherness meant everything to me. So much love was in that room. We would always play a wonderful, silly game consisting of lottery tickets. Even Santa, himself, appeared out of nowhere and made his way through the front door bearing a gift for everyone. He was never the same, however. Every year St. Nickolas changed his appearance. I never knew which Santa would be coming through the door. It was wonderful. How the children believed.
As the years passed and my boys got older, they began to go about their lives as young men will do.
So no, it isn't the same. At all. But I still cherish the holidays with them.
I remember going to church every Christmas Eve. They never even minded, as boys often do. They would let me dress them in their "Sunday best" and sat quietly during the service. They were amazing. (They are still amazing.)Christmas Eve consisted of coming home from church and watching "It's a Wonderful Life." Without a doubt, this is the best Christmas movie ever made. You can never go wrong when Jimmy Stewart is in a film.
I remember when I finally got my boys to sit down and watch the movie with me. It was in black and white so that in itself made it unappealing to a child. It took years of asking and pleading for them to finally come around.
I took a picture. A physical photo so I have proof of the one time they humored their mother and watched my all-time favorite movie with me.
I also took a photo within my memory so that moment will remain with me forever.
And although none of them cared very much for the film, I only remember that they did it for me. Because they love me. I know this. And it is the most beautiful feeling I have ever known. These were wonderful days which I will always cherish and hold close to my heart.
It is my hope that any parent who has children that are still small enough to believe in the magic of Christmas will stop and simply enjoy these moments. Please do not let the hectic part of the season ruin what should be the most amazing days you will ever spend with your sons or daughters.
When the days seem like they are just too much to handle, with all of the shopping and wrapping and baking and decorating … just stop. And cherish it. Because it is gone far too soon. And you will miss those days more than you could ever realize.
Take pictures. Take lots of pictures. I should have. Because it's hard to remember all these years later. It's hard to remember their smiles as they found what they desperately wanted underneath the Christmas tree.
It's difficult to recall the sound of their laughter. It's heartbreaking to forget how their hugs felt.
This Christmas, please, please make sure to enjoy your children.
How often I wish I could go back. I wish I would have baked cookies with them. I wish I would have let them decorate the trees and stars however they wanted to. But instead, I opted to hurry them out of the kitchen because I had to make each cookie as perfect as possible. I didn't want to clean up any of their messes. What I would give to have my kitchen look like a complete disaster if it meant I could once again have those hours together with my sons.
I wish I would have let them help me decorate the Christmas tree. But again, each branch had to be perfection. I wish I would have hung their hand-made ornaments up when they brought them home from school.
But I never did. Because I thought having a beautiful Christmas tree was more important than my child's artistry.
This is the one thought that I regret the most in my life. Because it hurts that much. More than 20 years later, it still hurts that much. My youngest son, the one in the Air Force, Face-timed me the other day. He asked if I remember how he found out about Santa Claus. (He was being facetious because he never lets me live this down.)
Apparently, there was a year in which I left out cookies and milk for Santa and a carrot for his reindeer.
Noah discovered the infamous carrot inside the kitchen trashcan. And that right there is when his hopes were destroyed and he stopped believing in the magic of Christmas.
This year, I have a grandson who will make the holidays have that childlike feel to the season, once again. He turns 1 this week.
I pray my son will appreciate the handmade crafts that Layne will create when he starts school. I hope he will realize what I didn't. It is my wish that he can picture his son as he anxiously awaits the end of the day so he can rush home and show what he made with the love in his heart and his two tiny hands. As he presents the uneven pieces of paper with the coloring marks outside of the lines and the glue marks covering some of the writing that you simply can't decipher, it is my one wish that he clings that paper to his chest and announces it is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. I hope he will immediately tell him it deserves the most special place on the tree. I hope he takes him over and lets him hang it on the branch himself.
I hope he take several photos of him opening his gifts on Christmas morning. I hope they will bake cookies together. I hope for them so much. So much that I didn't give.
And when I finally understood, it was simply too late.
I remember visiting my grandparent's house every Christmas morning. It was our first stop of the day after we opened our gifts at home.
It was the most wonderful time I have ever had in my life. How they always made Christmas so special. You walked away every year just feeling loved. They made you feel a if you were the most important child in the world. They were able to do that for everyone. Even with my children for a little while.
Something that will always stay with me is when my grandfather, my "Pappap," would always create a game leading up to his handing out a present.
Even a paper bag and a pair of socks was a good time with him.
I remember how he told my children he was giving them $50 each. How their eyes lit up. The excitement of possessing $50 when you weren't even 6 years old would be the best gift.
He handed them their envelopes and as each of them opened, they discovered it was not $50 at all, but rather, a $5 bill.
He waited a second to see what their reaction would be. But only for a second. Because immediately, each one of my three boys walked over and hugged him so tightly and so fiercely, you would have thought they had been given a million dollars.
Not one corrected his "mistake." He, of course, then gave them the $50. But still, they were thankful for what they received and did not want to hurt his feelings. They are truly the very best part of me. They are my role models and the greatest accomplishment my life will ever know.
I pray I will somehow get the opportunity to make up for my past mistakes and that I am blessed with many more Christmases with them as possible.
(Stenger is community editor of the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times)