Sparkle

On our Christmas tree each year since I was my own son's age there has been a tiny, nondescript ornament nestled in amongst all the blinkies and sparkles. What it lacks in pizazz, it makes up for in sentiment: it's by far my most most adored, cherished ornament, the one I pile all my nostalgia onto (trumping the handmade ornaments my parents made before they were married, the snowblob with my son's handprint, and the Walnut I colored with markers and put on a string on in Kindergarten) because it includes a most basic and treasured ritual: reading aloud on Christmas eve, from the tiniest of books, the Night Before Christmas.

But as we decorated the tree this year, for the very first time in my entire life, I realized that I can no longer even squint through glasses to see the tiny print. My son not yet old enough to read, this seemingly timeless tradition may have to end, or be severely compromised by allowing someone else besides me or my blood to execute it. Or relying on the likes of Google in an unfair assist.

So, I comforted myself by falling back on my second most favorite tradition: eating the year-old piece of candy I hide in my Reindeer squeezy-mouth ornament each season as we're packing away our Christmas decorations. Oh, and catching hell for it from my husband who thinks the shelf life of chocolate is like, an important detail or something.

This year on on its eve we'll read the Night Before Christmas even if I have to pull the words out from deep in my memory bank to do it. All the while, I'll try to remember that even the strongest of traditions die out with time. But like old bulbs on an ancient string of lights, they can be replaced with new ones that'll sparkle and burn bright for years to come.