Friday, December 23, 2011


Today, I've been caught off guard by a sudden onslaught of deja vou moments where my children allow me to relive my own childhood holidays.
It's surreal to suddenly be standing there, and to feel like I'm five years old again, waiting for Christmas morning.
(Not that it's hard to see myself at about five--Punk is a clone of me after all.)
But I could see my Daddy, bushy mustache and white t-shirt, coffee in hand, watching me bang on a baby grand piano toy.
Or my mom, hovering just like I do now, over my brother and I as we tore through wrapping and ooh'd and ahh'd.
I can see my grandparents, grandpa on the floor playing, granny always nearby for a hug or a spare hand.
And I know my babies are having these same experiences, but with slightly different players.
The Man has the coffee in hand, no mustache or white shirt, gearing up to do battle with all batteries and fastenings those damnable manufacturers use to tie toys into boxes.
My mom is hovering, but as a grandma, ready with hugs and laughter.
There is another grandma and grandpa, on the floor and ready to play.
And there is me. Making it happen. Sitting back and watching it all unfold and knowing I did good by the smiles on little faces.
It's disconcerting the moment you realized these same scenes are played out time and again, mirroring my own childhood in such a way that, one day, the heathens will have that moment of deja vou and know they are the continuation of a holiday tradition they had no idea was being made.
And, that, despite everything, is a joy I can truly feel, knowing I"m just the temporary keeper of a legacy that was started long ago.
Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays. Blessed Be.

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