I often hear people say how Christmas has lost its magic. Usually, this is followed with a qualifier: “When you’ve got children, it’s a bit different, of course.” This year, I’ve even heard more than one person say outright, “Christmas is for the children, really.”
That’s not untrue, but as we were walking back from town earlier this evening, the glowing red man at the traffic lights triggered a familiar feeling. While we waited for him to turn green in the dark evening air, I began thinking about the multicoloured fairy lights I used to put on the little plastic Christmas tree in my childhood bedroom.
There is something particularly childlike and nostalgic about those charming multicoloured lights. And every time I see something close enough in similarity, even if it happens to be as practical as the glowing red man, a certain feeling is evoked. Memories might come in tow, but the feeling is where I find myself situated.
So I might begin by thinking about that three-foot plastic tree, and quiet evenings in a festive childhood home, but I could just as soon be wandering through the memory of a pantomime visit, and holding that spinning wheel of lights in my hands again, all cosy with my shoulders tucked into the cushioned chair in that hushed, expectant theatre.
Again, it is Christmastime in the memories, and the memories are from childhood. But the feeling itself, brought on by those charming multicoloured lights, has actually never left me.
I wonder if we have forgotten what made Christmas magical when we were children. It’s easy to look back over our shoulders, disillusioned by a life of struggle and responsibility, and the knowledge that the fat man was no more than myth… but we lie to ourselves if we think the world is without magic.
Children have their problems, too, though we tend to forget that. Our problems simply scale with age. And could it not be that Christmas lacks magic because we are forgetting that we are no longer its naive recipients, but its custodians and midwives? Parents breathe life into the myth for their children, but the values are human and available to everyone. We call it the Christmas spirit.
I’m sure Father Christmas knows this. And as he journeys through the skies tonight, maybe he’ll pass a travelling plane or two… and maybe those planes will flash red amidst the stars…. and maybe Saint Nick will then have that familiar feeling, cosy and warm. Maybe he’ll think of how lovely it is to be the source of the magic.
MT 