Here we are again at this delicious season of year when sugar plumbs and reindeer dance in our heads. But of course as adults we have properly stored such images into the drawer called ‘grown up.’
Trouble is we grownups thereby shut ourselves off from the more immediate and visceral joys of Christmastime. I mean, it’s like approaching the birth of your first child by studying the algorithms you laid out nine month ago. Come on, folks, lets not get Grinchy and Scroogy about this!
Permit me to speak for the millions of proper but silent grownups who may have taken St Paul out of context. Yes, he did say “I have put away the things of child” but nowhere did he say imagination had to be one of them. Our imagination — day-dreaming, sky-scaping, Xanadu-madness — is the little engine that could in our childhoods which a few select adults have learned to keep alive all through their adulthood’s. You know, those happy wacky relatives and friend who you love to love as they giggly enjoy the most childish of things.
When I watched Pope Francis despite all his Vatican splendor reach out to embrace the little child that spontaneously grabbed for his coattails, I said to myself: At last! At last I don’t have to apologize for being the gushy, sentimentalist child-at-heart that I have always been at this magical time of year. Be it because of Francis or Santa or the Child Jesus — all three really — I shall celebrate this Christmas more wonderfully than I have in a long long time.
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