Thursday, December 21, 2006

sunrise, sunset

My father and I were leaving the mall today, having just committed our afternoon to shopping for the four grandchildren, when we passed Santa Claus in his fenced-off Christmas Land with a screaming toddler on his lap. I smiled at my father, and my father smiled at me. Both of us share a veteran's-eye view of this scene now that my own children are of an age to either a) politely decline to sit on Santa's lap, or b) sit on Santa's lap and politely clarify that it's a Toa Jaller Bionicle (#8727) that he's asking for - not the Toa Hahli (#8728) that he thought he wanted before he saw the Jaller. The passage of time is perhaps at its most bittersweet at this time of year - bitter because we're all getting older, the adults and the children (I feel a Stevie Nicks song coming on) - and sweet because we're all getting older, the adults and the children (I feel a Fiddler on the Roof song coming on). Almost daily I look at my kids and try to imagine their baby faces superimposed on their big kid faces, because there is so much about their baby and toddlerhoods that I miss. Mall screaming is not one of those things, however, and as my father and I passed that Santa scene and gave each other knowing smiles, I was happy to chalk up one point for the "sweet" half of the bittersweet passing of time.

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