'Tis the Season

Caitlin Kamplain
Descriptive Essay
Mrs. Barnard Period 1
9-2-14
‘Tis The Season
Just because we all grow up physically does not mean we have to allow ourselves to become numb to all the things that made us feel giddy as a child. Everyone knows how exciting it can feel to wake up on Christmas morning. All December long, we work to ring in the Christmas spirit by giving to others, displaying festive colors of green and red, and enjoying the constant jingle of holiday music in the background of everything we do. I personally feel like a little kid, naïve and blissfully ignorant every year on December 25th. There’s something magical about all the traditions and events that make me feel forever young at heart on this special day.
At our house, though I am a fully-grown only child, my parents still enforce the mystery of Santa Claus. On Christmas Eve we all gather in the kitchen, warmed by the radiating heat of a wood-fired stove, and bake fresh gingersnaps that embrace every room in the house with their saccharine fragrance. We lay them out on a festive plate with a refreshing glass of cold milk, and as I sleepily tiptoe my way to bed I pretend that I actually believe a chubby man in a crimson suit will shoot out of our chimney and joyfully gobble them up while I’m asleep. Then I wake up early the next morning and peek out the window and watch puffy white flakes descend gently to the ground, and the crisp, cold air chills the palms of my hands as I touch the frosty glass. My mind says there is no such thing as magic or flying reindeer, but as I observe the delicate snowfall and notice one lonely, half-eaten gingersnap left on our plate in the kitchen, my heart starts to believe all over again.
Later, when I’m done absorbing the simple pleasure of Christmas morning in my solitary silence, I drag my feet all the way to my parents’ bedroom and I wake them up. They reluctantly roll out of the comfort of their warm bed like two teenagers getting up for school on a dreary Monday morning. After they pour themselves a steaming hot cup of bitter, black coffee, we all congregate in the living room around the Christmas tree. Before we even consider tearing into the plethora of gifts wrapped in shiny, foil paper and topped with curly ribbons, we sit together for a while, and we are hushed by the fatigue of early morning and the distinct elegance of the glimmering lights that dress the tall, green tree that appear like stars in a cloudless midnight sky. Eventually someone will break the infinite silence by saying “Who’s going to open the first one?” Then we dig into the various gifts, being particular with which boxes we choose first. Sometimes I shake the box like a rattle to try and guess what lies within its layers of cardboard, scotch tape, and colorful wrapping paper. We all watch each other, waiting eagerly for a surprised reaction. When we are done scavenging through every inch of the tree, we enjoy each other’s company and sit contently on our couch while we watch a classic, the movie A Christmas Story. Christmas, I’m sure, is celebrated very different from person to person. Hopefully, however, everyone’s holidays are as joyous, merry, and fun-loving as mine are with my family. Christmas is a time to believe, whether that be in a jolly, old, overweight man, the spirit of giving, or the birth of Jesus Christ. Christmas is when people should let themselves feel young again, and for me, that means baking cookies and waking up early with my parents Christmas morning so we can watch a movie together. As the wise Dr. Seuss once wrote, “’Maybe Christmas,’ the Grinch thought, ‘doesn’t come from a store.’”