I confess. This year I almost broke down to ask my wife to purchase Christmas ornaments. We don’t typically decorate at all. She is Jewish; I grew up surrounded by the indicia of nominal Christendom. The real God I worshiped, however, was Santa Claus, a big, fat, white guy who left cool gifts under the tree for me while I was asleep.
Somehow, the commercial side the season escapes me now. Our children are grown and out of the house. This year, our oldest won’t be home for Christmas. He and his new bride are nesting on the West Coast. This is their first Christmas as newlyweds. I suspect my wife and I are so much parental noise just now. They’ve dreams all their own to nurture.
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