Christmas Eve Eve Interview

With Christmas trees glimmering with deep reds and greens and fuzzy blues--in every window and along the M45 in Allendale, I recognize that Christmas Day will inevitably come, only to depart again for another 365 days. The jolly spirit will disintegrate into the irritations of mundane reality, in which dreams do not always come true and depleted bank account must be faced.

As a twenty-year old,I am well aware that Christmas is not what it was when I was a child--I cannot experience the bliss of innocent selfishness nor the thrill of magic found in an empty plate of cookies by the fireplace, on Christmas morning.

Christmas for me has changed. It retains the wonder in its truest sense, but the feelings have altered as I have grown older; I must admit, amidst the glittering tinsel and blinking lights, I sense a fragment of melancholy.

In an attempt to refresh that childish spark of Christmas excitement, I interviewed my nine year old brother, Weston.

Our interview took place after he should have been in bed, but before he brushed his teeth.

He started off with saying, "11:14pm means..." (He paused to count on his fingers and stare at a spot on the ceiling) "16 minutes until Christmas Eve." Through the course of our little discussion, he promptly informed me every time a minute ticked by, bringing us closer to Christmas Eve--and thusly Christmas day. His excitement shone through his physical rambunctiousness, and quickness to lean over my laptop to see what I was typing.

Weston said that his excitement for Christmas could fill the whole cardboard box that the new microwave came in (which was the largest parcel he could think of), that he had turned into a submarine earlier in the evening with the help of scissors and scotch tape.

I asked him what he wanted for Christmas, and he replied with a loud, monotonous "Uhhhhh..." followed by an example of his socially instilled reception of consumerism,in the midst of total innocence: "I want that X-wing--that $50 dollar x-wing!!" Then in a booming voice he added,"It's 13 minutes until Christmas Eve!"

I asked the nine-year old to describe Christmas morning. He said, "I just jump out of my bed--I don't get out of my pajamas--I just get out of bed..Check my stocking, eat breakfast, and wait for you guys to wake up. Then we open the big presents." The latter part of the quote was illustrated with a sweeping arm gesture and round saucer eyes.

"12 minutes until Christmas Eve!" he screeched in afterthought.

Next, I inquired about his favorite part of Christmas (aside from opening up presents. He articulated a series of stalling interjections as he pondered a question he had never given much thought. "Umm-ummy-um-um-um...the whole thing?...Including opening presents."

Then it was the tough question. Does Santa Clause Exist? He quieted in embarrassed meditation and finally said, "I don't know..." What do your friends say? He replied, "yes and no..." Weston, on the break of double-digits, has found himself in the inevitable quandary of Santa's existential reality. I could see the wheels turning in his little head, plotting ways to stay up all night on Christmas Eve to catch either Santa Clause--or our parents--in the act of delivering presents below the tree. Good luck to him. (In my day, I could never manage to stay awake long enough).

Finally, I asked Weston to close his eyes and imagine himself in 42 years from now, waking up on Christmas Day. What will Christmas be like, then?

"Well..." he said after serious consideration, "I would weigh a lot with all of my hairs, and how fat my butt was...I won't get as many presents as I would when I was a kid...I'd get like a foot spa and a tie...I'd rather not have a tie--how about a tie-fighter?! Or a time machine?! I would go back in time to when I was ten years old..." He paused dramatically to do justice to what he just said, then exclaimed, "And there's seven minutes to Christmas Eve!!"

Though he was not consistent in his verb tenses and his verbal sentence structure was awkward to type, I found some wisdom in his youthful words. Rather than submitting to the mundane boredom that can easily accompany age, I should use this time of year for an intentional relapse into childhood. Why can't it be magic for me, too? I'm not too old, just yet.

Tomorrow night, I shall don my footie pajamas and dream about whatever sugar plumbs are--and rejoice with my kid brother in the pile of presents and filled stockings on Christmas morning.

After all, there is only 23 hours and two minutes until Christmas Day.

I might as well get excited now.