Usually what felt like an eternity in kid-dom was only a half hour or so, and Mom would make her way down the stairs. I also got pretty good at finding ways to cause our dog to bark incessantly in an effort to commence the Christmas morning festivities (thanks, Willow!). Maybe sing a spontaneous Christmas carol here and there. I’d turn on the television and put the volume just a little too high. After shaking a few boxes here and there, I’d try and walk around and creak all the right floorboards in the hopes that it might wake up Mom and Dad and cause them to come downstairs. I would wait downstairs with all the patience of a hungry infant. “To: Tyler-O, From: Daddy-O.” “To: The Boy, From: The Parents.” “To: Ty, From: Yo Daddy.” Even with Christmas tags, he couldn’t let a moment go by without trying to be funny.īut he could let moments go by on Christmas morning before lumbering down the stairs. Dad’s tags always had some ridiculous moniker in the “To” and “From” lines. I’d cautiously search for the presents under the three that were labeled “Ty” either with my Mom’s familiar loopy cursive script, or my by Dad’s precise, all-capital penmanship that I inherited (although his was much more precise). Looking back and realizing how much effort, time, and money had gone into those presents, I appreciate them and that feeling all the more…Īnd, like most kids, I’d also do my best to do some sneaky investigative work. I’d look down the stairs and see the twinkling tree that Mom and Dad had meticulously decorated in the living room ( except for that one year when the whole thing came crashing down), and like most kids, I’d be blown away by all of the presents that had been left under the tree. I always felt that sparkle deep in my bones that only a childhood Christmas morning can replicate. Like most kids, I was usually the first one down the stairs to wait anxiously in the family room for everyone else to wake up. It’s one thing to be a little tardy for a year here and there, but to make it your trademark behavior is something else entirely. In a family of three (four if you count the dog), maybe this isn’t such a big deal nonetheless, the consistency was impressive. It may have been our most steady holiday tradition-my Dad was always the last person downstairs every Christmas morning.
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