I remember when I was a child what a special time Christmas was. There would be a two week break from school, lights would be brought down from the attic and wrapped like spider webs over the house and shrubs. There was the excitement of seeing cousins I had not seen all year, and a trip to the country to see my favorite aunt and uncle who seemed as if they lived in another era, a much simpler time. It was a time of great expectation, wondering what Santa might bring and a restless nights sleep on Christmas Eve where I was not allowed to leave my bed until first light. There was no greater excitement than that first look under the Christmas tree, always alone, I would stand there in awe at the presents Santa had left for me.
I remember to this day the toy cars, rockets, games, gadgets, and horrible pajamas, whose only saving grace was knowing they would never be worn outside the house. As I grew a little older there was another present Dad would leave under the tree, a coin. No, it was not as exciting as a new Hot Wheel car, but there was something about that gift that had special meaning. I never asked for a coin, yet always received one. Wrapped in its own little box, it was always there. Memories are funny things. I’m glad I still have them, and glad I still have my coins. Thank you Dad.