Teen Talk 
Holding Fast to Holiday Moments
By Madison Dalton
The morning frost softly kisses the bleak glass of my bedroom window. The chilled December air that fights to trespass the wooden frame of the door wisps in traces of the nose-numbing scent of frigid evergreen as I wiggle my toes into my slippers and slide out of bed, my blanket still wrapped around me.
I tiptoe through the cluttered living room, choreographing my own version of the Nutcracker as I attempt to avoid crushing the gray lumps of sleeping relatives underfoot. They are each laid out with the same strategic calculation one positions Block-It squares in order to fit in the room: I have a huge family, but my grandma has a small house.
I slip into the kitchen where the adults and youngest kids are already awake—the prior sipping coffee and whispering in hushed voices as to avoid rousing the others prematurely from their slumber, the latter giggling as loudly as the former would permit, in a devious attempt to wake their sleeping relatives. For it is Christmas morning, Santa has come and gone, and the sooner all are awake, the sooner all presents can be ripped open.
In all honesty, I never believed in Santa Claus. Call it the plight of the hopelessly practical, call it Youngest Sibling Syndrome, call it a crime against childhood if you want, but the fact of the matter is a lack of Santa Claus never really bothered me. Because those mornings when you wake up with butterflies in your tummy (the good kind that politely swish the air around just enough to make you excited, not those obnoxious, overly-active ones that flutter so much as to make you feel sick) they’re magical somehow. Magical, but for the silliest reasons when you think about it. And that wouldn’t be a problem, except that when we get older we do think about it. And then by the time we figure out Santa Claus doesn’t actually sneak down the chimney, eat our cookies, and leave presents each year, we turn into zealous cynics.
We start to worry about packing and planning family reunions. We gossip about our annoying relatives and roll our eyes anytime they don’t word something the way we want them to. Gift giving and wrapping becomes a stressful burden. We go on post-holiday diet plans because we feel bad about all the cookies we ate. We act as if only an exaggerated saint made Christmas—or any holiday for that matter—special. As if real life can’t be magical simply because it is indeed real.
This is why I’m sort of happy I never really believed in any of the Christmas children’s fables. Because the story that makes Christmas truly special is so far from a fake toddler’s tale.
Appreciating the holidays isn’t matter of quietly sitting around as you grow deaf to the sleigh bells. It’s about catching all of the beautiful melodies the song of the sleigh bells makes as it changes tune.
When I was little, I used to get so excited to open presents. That was just the high-light of winter break for my toddler self, not because of all the new stuff I got (though that was admittedly a nice bonus) but because there was something genuinely special in the act of tearing the wrapping paper off a box.
Then it was playing with my cousins—I mean, seriously, they’re like free friends. Building snowmen, baking cookies, watching snowmen melt, eating cookies, sledding in the slush the snowman left, eating more cookies.
And as I grow older, I realize that I don’t really feel the need to do anything at all on Christmas day. I don’t try to wake my cousins up anymore so that we can open presents or so that they can play with me.
Don’t get me wrong: all those things are still fun. But what’s more fun, is just sitting and talking with them. Or laughing as I watch my younger cousins play. Or listening as my grandpa tells his stories. Because those, those are the true Christmas miracles. The people that surround us on Christmas day. Just like they surround us every other day of the year. They don’t go away. Sure, every few years my grandma’s house gets one member smaller, my grandma herself passed away last year. But every few years the house also gets one member bigger, and the world gets thousands of inhabitants huger and those inhabitants are what made the magic of the holidays always. Even when we we’re too little to realize it. And even when we let ourselves get a bit too old and start to forget.
So eat your own cookies. Because Santa won’t do it for you and you’re too old to worry about the calories. Leave your own gifts for the ones you love—and not the cheap kind either. Not the kind that can be bought. And savor the moments. The tiny, small, insignificant smiles you leave on someone else’s face. Because those moments, they’re all we have in the end.
Madison Dalton is Junior at Wellington High School. She is an editor of her school’s online newspaper, WHSWave.com. She is also an officer on her school’s debate team, National Honors Society, and community service club, Key club. Madison’s hobbies include writing, running, and drawing. She aspires to be an author and professional artist.