The Best Day of the Year
And, no, it’s not Christmas Day.
Sure, Christmas is a day filled with happiness and joy, warmth, love, presence—and presents.
But the real excitement comes today—Christmas Eve—as we anticipate the magic of tomorrow.
As a kid, that anticipation began right after Halloween. Sure, we had to get through Thanksgiving, but after Thanksgiving, we could really start to get excited about the BIG one.
“24 shopping days to Christmas,” read the little blurb in the top corner of the Perth Amboy Evening News, and every day I delivered it, that number would go down until it got to the single digits, which is when the excitement really started to heat up.
By the time we got to Christmas Eve Eve, we were at fever pitch. That’s because the next day was actually Christmas Eve, and the knowledge that we only needed to sleep ONE MORE NIGHT before the Christmas magic worked its wonders was nearly too much to bear.
All day long, we’d stare at the decorated tree with nothing underneath it (except, on some occasions, a toy train running its circular route, or a box of candy that some business had given out as a gesture of good will). But the real stuff was yet to appear. We NEVER opened any presents on Christmas Eve.
And that’s why the anticipation of what we might see the next morning was off the charts. Would that one special present we really wanted be there? Would there be some crazy present we never even expected? And that anticipation made the day.
Sure, Christmas morning was happy—exciting, even—and certainly noisy. But the best part—the anticipation—was over. Because it was here. And while coming down to the tree the day after Christmas and seeing everything (now unwrapped and “used") was cool, it wasn’t the same as the Christmas morning excitement.
Oh, we’d enjoy playing with and using the presents that Santa had left, of course; but by the end of the day, we were already planning what would be on our list NEXT Christmas.
And the spark of anticipation would begin to flicker ever so slightly. Because we had to get through a lot of days before Halloween would come again, and the “real” process of awaiting Christmas could begin anew.
In our family, we treasure Christmas Eve. So much so that, sitting by the fireplace, I still read C. Clement Moore’s wonderful poem to my adult children as they sit and listen, recalling perhaps those halcyon days when the magic was real.
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