Kid Christmas vs “Grown Up” Christmas

When I was a child (roughly encompassing ages 3-12), Christmas was a fucking miracle, and not for the traditional reason of Christ’s birth that some people think it’s about.  Christmas was better than Chuck E Cheese, Disneyland, and the Puzzle Place theme song put together, and I’m sorry, but no way something as trivial as Jesus being born could hold a candle to that analogy.  No, Christmas was pure awesome.  As soon as I was able to change the “11” to “12” in the date at the top of my first grade addition and subtraction worksheets, I could feel the tingle of anticipation start to flow through my six year old limbs.  It’s almost Christmas.

The next few weeks would be a magical whirlwind endeavor of preparation, from diligently sticking red and green tissue paper on ornaments with way too much Tacky Glue in class to rocking a homemade reindeer sweater for a picture with Santa at the Brea Mall and describing precisely the kind of Mulan doll I expected to receive from him in a few days (the girly one, not the soldier – as a seven year old, pretty princess outfits were still a larger priority than the notion of gender equality).  Every aspect of life screamed FESTIVITY and the anticipation culminated on the night of December 24th, when I clearly remember lying in my bed, adrenaline pumping, as I strained to hear what would certainly be Santa’s sleigh bells at any moment.

Christmas when you’re a grown up isn’t the same experience as Christmas when you’re a kid.  This is a fact that I hate to admit and one I’ve actively tried to deny through the fervent continuation of traditions including blasting holiday music, re-watching “Elf”, and making gingerbread houses from the $10 kit at Michael’s.  But even though the traditions remain the same, to my older self they just don’t feel as exciting as they used to.  And that’s okay.

Because I’m finding that instead, I’m starting to get excited about things I never thought I would as a kid at Christmas time.  Things like:

I used to shake my head in disappointment at the thoughtless and out-of-touch relatives who chose to give me cash instead of toys at Christmas.  One, it’s extremely anticlimactic to unwrap, and two, how the hell am I supposed to play with two twenty dollar bills while my cousins are zooming around the house with their new Barbie convertibles?  Now, I salivate at the idea of getting money for Christmas.  When I see that $40 my brain thinks “YES, groceries! So I won’t starve this week after all!” and it’s a wonderful thing to be able to celebrate your prolonged survival.

Attending holiday parties used to be one of the only boring parts of Christmas as a kid.  While my mom and dad were busy in important catch-up conversation with old friends, I would awkwardly sit on the floor with those friends’ kids in silence until thank god, one of the adults figured they’d save us by plugging in the N64 and we’d whittle away those long hours in Super Smash fights.  Now that I’m a grown up, I have the amazing ability to attend holiday parties of my own!  These involve sparkly dresses, spiced cider, and great people – what’s not to love?  Although sometimes I secretly think a little N64 could totally bring these gatherings to the next level of greatness.

When I was little, I never really understood why my mom/aunts became so loud and sing-y and giggly and dance-y at Christmas dinner.  I guess I always assumed they were just really happy to see each other.  Now that I’m of drinking age, I realize why they act like this because I do the same under the influence of four glasses of wine.  Drinking with your friends is great, but doing it with your relatives is like an out-of-body experience.

Of course I loved going to Disneyland at Christmas as a kid, but it was a very me-focused experience.  The parents/siblings/friends who came with me were irrelevant; all that mattered was going on Star Tours as many times as humanly possible and waving to the princesses in the Holiday parade.  Now that I’m a grown up, Disneyland at Christmas is about sharing a special experience with people I love.  And going to Disneyland with a boy is almost as magical as going as a little kid, except you do things like take cute pictures in front of the castle and make out in Haunted Mansion instead.     …And now I wish I had a boy to take to Disneyland this year, damn.  *cough*butgoingdrunkwithfriendswillbejustasgood*cough*

______________________________________________

So in conclusion, we might be a little nostalgic for the days of unadulterated joy that Santa’s visits brought us as kids, but being a grown up doesn’t mean Christmas can’t be magical anymore.  So today, have a great time with your family, possibly get drunk with them, give some gifts and receive some more (remember, money = prolonged survival), and GO SEE LES MISERABLES!  That last part is important.

Happy Holidays <3