merry, merry

I exchanged emails super early this morning with someone I have a great deal of admiration for, and was moved beyond the telling by the response I got, and I’ve been thinking, ever since, about the small ways in which we touch each other’s lives. In the midst of all the stories that break your heart are stories that remind you that most of us spend the small amount of time we have here trying to make things better, seeking love and laughter and joy in the world around us and the people that matter most. 

Christmas can be really hard. There’s so much pressure, intentional or not, and I think sometimes that’s amplified being a parent. I didn’t grow up in a house of plenty, but I grew up in a house of enough. My parents weren’t wealthy, but I have so many amazing memories growing up, and while I’m sure they scraped and scrimped, and while I’m sure there were things I wanted that I didn’t get, I don’t remember a single one. I remember Santa coming to my grandma’s house on Garfield Avenue on Christmas Eve. I remember the magic of creeping out of bed at 5 in the morning on Christmas Day to see gifts that had miraculously appeared, always more gifts than there should have been, looking back.

But my favorite memory, hands down, the one Christmas that stands out heads and tails above the others, was when we lived in Madison. I couldn’t tell you how old I was, I’m guessing nine or ten, but we had just settled in to start opening presents when there was a knock on the front door. A city worker was standing there, looking both apologetic and wistful. A water main had busted, and they were turning off the water shortly. He wished us a Merry Christmas and headed up to the next house.

Present opening was delayed. My dad went to put coffee on right away, and my mom piled donuts on a plate while my sister and I bundled up. Up the street we went, her with the donuts in hand and me juggling cups filled with coffee, to where the men were working up the block. It was cold, I remember that, and I remember thinking how glad I was to be home, where it was warm.

I think about that every Christmas. There was no lecture from my parents about how it was the right thing to do, or important, they just did it, because here were people pulled away from their own celebrations, from their own family. Virtually all of the really important things I learned from my folks about being a parent weren’t things they ever stopped to explain to me. They just did them, and I learned from their example, and I was better because of what they taught me. Random acts before that was a thing. Random acts just because that’s what you did for your neighbor, whether they lived next door or on the other side of town.

There is so much good out there. So much. Light in the dark. Cup your hands around it, fan the flame, make it brighter. One cup of coffee at a time.