My Christmas this year is mostly reminiscences of Christmases when I was a child, and up to the time I became a young adult. In those days, the family was complete; everyone was there; our cares were few, life was simpler, the future beckoned, but it could wait.
I often tell my own children that a family's most wonderful times are those when the children are growing up, the family kept together by the strong bond of love. These moments should be savored, and then committed to memory; so that when life or death impose themselves upon those we love, we can summon them and enjoy once more the splendor and happiness they brought us.
I'm grateful that as a child I was made to believe in the supposed existence of Santa Claus. Others may argue that the practice is deceptive, but I think it teaches about anonymous generosity. Most people don't want to remain anonymous when they give. They want to advertise their magnanimity. How else can you explain publicity photos of city and town bureaucrats pointing to donated trash bins, or to roads they have interceded for to get repaired or constructed, or those that show them running to the rescue of the victims of natural and mostly man-made tragedies that visit this archipelago? Our inclination is to be generous and popular.
My Santa Clauses (Yes, I had two!) were two selfless people. More than all the toys I received, their greatest gift was the life lesson that genuine giving does not seek anything in return. I shall always be indebted and grateful to them for the gift that lasts lifetimes.
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