It wasn't easy, but nothing is.
When I was younger, I did a lot of volunteer work. Not only was it required for the program I attended in high school, but my mom made us do it before I ever went to high school. We licked envelopes, took trees to women's shelters, attended coat drives, organized food drives, adopted families every year. Christmas time was always about helping other people, before we helped ourselves.
One year, we got new bikes for Christmas. My dad loaded the old bikes into the back of the car, and we took off for my grandmother's house for Christmas dinner.
On the way there, we cruised the neighborhood, looking for kids. We happened upon a little girl and her brother playing in the front yard, behind a chain link fence, in the projects. My dad pulled the car over, and asked the children if they had bikes. They didn't, so we unloaded the bikes, said Merry Christmas, and continued to Grandma's.
For some reason, I feel like that's one of the nicest things I've ever done, second only to the mystery bag lady story that I've never told anyone. And I didn't really do anything but give away my old bike. Granted, it was my first bike, but I had a brand new one at home.
I don't know where I'm going with this... only that it makes me cry when I think about it. And if I think about it long enough, it makes me want to get rid of everything I own.
. . .
Now that I can call myself an adult, kind of, only by legal measures, I find that I want intangible things.
Mostly, this year, I want to hear that Bruce Springteen Christmas song that I can kind of remember, but not really.
. . .
I get to eat Santa's cookies this year.
. . .
I'll update a bazillion more times before midnight, but in case I forget to say it in the one I write before I go to bed...
Merry Christmas
If I could get you anything, I would give you hope, wrapped up with a pink bow. And a vanilla coke. And 10 extra minutes.