“Dial it down please,” said my wife to our 10-year-old daughter.
“I can’t,” she replied. “It’s Christmas and I’m really hyper!”
She didn’t need to point out that obvious fact. She was bouncing off the walls. Riling up the dog. Dancing about. Speaking so fast that she sounded like an auctioneer on fire. I worried that maybe she had stuck her finger in a light socket, or had taken up drinking espresso.
But no: It’s Christmas!
When you’re a kid, it’s just about impossible to contain your enthusiasm this time of year. And when you’re a Christmas kid — born during the season — there’s absolutely no hope.
That’s exactly what my daughter is: A Christmas kid. Born on Dec. 26.
In fact, she began her long journey into the world on Christmas morning when my wife’s water broke while we were opening presents. The little child didn’t seem too concerned that we were an hour away from having family over, or that I might want another cup of coffee. (At least she had the decency to drag the labor out and didn’t emerge until the next day.)
When I tell people what day she was born, their first reaction is a giant gasp followed by hands clapped over their mouths. It is as if they have just seen a plane crash.
“That poor child!” they remark. “Why in the world would you do that to her?!?” You can see the look of horror on their faces. That they think this must have been some kind of malicious plot on my part, or an example of what happens when poor planning goes horribly wrong. “Everyone knows it’s 9 months! Couldn’t you count?!?”
It’s at times like these that I remember the saying of one of my daughter’s pre-school teachers: “You get what you get and you don’t get upset.”
Besides, could I have changed a single thing and still ended up with the incredible girl I have today?
My daughter revels in being a Christmas kid. Soaks up everything about the season. Appreciates it all. There is no more magical time of the year to be born, and I think she sees it as a badge of honor. Something to brag about. Membership in a special club.
And it is, isn’t it?
As I look back on that day all those wonderful years ago, I’m reminded that it was the greatest Christmas present I’ve ever received. One that will never be topped.
So, go ahead and dial it up, child. It’s your season, and there’s much to celebrate. Sometimes the only proper way to do it is talking like an auctioneer and dancing around like your finger is stuck in a light socket.
Merry Christmas to all …