a glimmer

There were a few years when the three older children knew

that Christmas held magic

that the lights from the tree also lit a spark within them

that nutcrackers (especially the Viking nutcracker) came to life while you slept

that John Denver and The Muppets sang the best renditions of favorite Christmas songs

that all was bright, all was calm

There were a few years when all three of the older ones

thrilled at the jingle of a bell outside their window on Christmas eve

which let them know Santa was near

and it was time to go to sleep

or else he would skip their house completely.

And, they would claim they stayed up all night waiting for him.

But he came anyway

There was the year when the Spoiler-

sandwiched between my boys on a ride home from school-

whispered in first born son’s ear

‘I have a secret only grown ups know.’

Although we love the child who blew the whistle on Christmas,

when recalling that moment- we say her name as if we’ve eaten lemons.

First born son was ripe and ready

to be plucked from the tree of ‘all-believing.’

But his younger brother, only six, fell hard

when the Spoiler pulled the rug out from beneath him.

And no amount of back pedaling

could  undo the damage to his faith.

My heart hurt

as I watched him question

everything and everyone

What is really real?

There were many years after the boys had stopped believing

that they remained supremely respectful

of their younger sister’s steadfast trust in all things Christmas,

where they all still found enchantments in raising the tree

and arranging the nutcrackers on the mantel.

They spoke of Santa as if the 'secret only grown ups know' had never been uncloaked.

They created their own tradition, the sibling gift exchange-

designating the morning of each Christmas eve

to give each other gifts they bought with their own savings.

Early morning gift trades eased the agony of Christmas anticipation

with which their sister was so clearly afflicted.

This year the sister’s faith began to waver

as she tried to shake off the chatter of school mates

who had crossed over to the other side.

She, like her oldest brother, was ready

although it stung a bit more when she heard the words from her mothers lips

which answered the questions running through her mind

and confirmed the worst for her-

she was growing up.

And this holiday season, her first since letting go of her Christmas dreams,

is peppered with a hint of bitterness

as she 'bah hum bugs' every image of Santa that passes before her eyes.

This is the first year where all three of the older children are

old enough to choose where their Christmas magic comes from.

This is the year when the baby builds a new vocabulary

drawing from the living room-

bedecked in holiday regalia and transformed into a Christmas tableau:

Christmas

tree

lights

nutcracker

Charlie Brown

ornament 

snowman

Santa

gift

Each song

each adornment

each story

a stepping stone,

a new hook on the tree of 'all-believing.'

This is the year when mother and father are

stitched between those children who think they understand-

and, yet are unsure of what expectations to hold for the holiday season-

and the child who is just learning

but none-the-less, marvels each day

at each new introduction

and accepts it all as magic.

We grow backwards,

once we know.

We work harder for the magic to keep its dominion over the season.

We flip the lights on the tree-

the memory of Christmases past illuminates their eyes.

And, spark begins to glimmer again.