A Day Like Any Other

So that was Christmas. I’ve been sick all day, and consequently a little out of it. It’s been a long time anyway, since Christmas lost the luster it had in childhood. That tantalizing magic of suspense and gifts, special decorations and traditions. Now I’m older, and the holiday is as much an inconvenience as it is a blessing. But that just means I have to look a little harder for the magic. 
I’m in love with Christmas lights. They are something I am continually amazed to find never lose their appeal. My parents strung a canopy of lights over their front yard this year. Wonderful. 
I am appreciating coming home to my parent’s house more and more these days. My parents still live in the same house I grew up in; I have two brothers at home still. What I used to find terribly junky at home is now fondly kitschy. The well-worn furniture, unfinished floors, and dust covered, crowded corners of every room. Every crack is a memory. Every oddity, the mark of someone I love. 
I am glad we were able to spend Christmas Eve together playing games and eating junk food. That my older brother, Zeke, was wrapping his gifts at 12am –because that’s how it’s always been.
I am glad for tradition, even as we outgrow it. 
The older I get, the more Christmas becomes a day that is just like all the others. 
I guess we’re lucky that all the regular days have their own magic to them. 



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