Christmas

When I was 5, a "big kid" (I think he was 9) told me there wasn't any Santa Claus. I went home and asked my mom about it, and she admitted that this was indeed the case. I don't remember being that shocked (perhaps I'd had suspicions all along), but I do know that the non-existence of Santa Claus didn't affect how I felt about Christmas. It was always a wonderful time for me.

Even though my mom, brother and I lived in a dump, and had virtually no money, my mom's brother and his wife (one of the identical twins who had been my mom's close friend when my mom was in her 20's) always sent huge boxes filled with presents for us. My mom had no contact with her brother or any of her old friends, but I guess her brother (who was destined to commit suicide at the age of 38) knew that my mom had serious mental problems which prevented her from staying in communication with him, and realized that the presents would make a difference in our lives.

And they did. Some of my most vivid and happy memories center around those big boxes of presents that arrived a week or so before Christmas. And the night before Christmas was so exciting for me, thinking about opening all that good stuff the next morning. It's memories like this that enable me to feel today that I actually had a good childhood, in spite of the less-than-ideal living conditions.

Had my uncle lived, he'd be 86 today. And, I have no doubt that if the anti-depressants we have today had been available to him, he would have had a much better and longer life. And, I wish he had. I'd like to thank him for making a significant positive difference in my life.

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I wish I could recapture that feeling I used to have at Christmas. Had we had children, I might have been able to do it at least partially through them. I remember one night in late December around 25 years ago - I was in a small restaurant, and it was snowing outside. I was sitting right next to a window. I looked out, and there was something about the way the snow was slowly falling, and the way the Christmas lights reflected off the pane of glass that transported me back to age 11, and for about 10 seconds, I felt I was there again - I felt that I was in my 11 year old body, and experienced reality exactly the way I had back then.

I've only had that sort of thing happen a few times in my life. It is direct evidence to me that there is a lot we don't understand about perception and the nature of memory.

Proust talks at length about this phenomenon with the eloquence of genius. He says:

And so it is with our own past. It is a labor in vain to attempt to recapture it: all the efforts of our intellect must prove futile. The past is hidden somewhere outside the realm of intellect, in some material object (in the sensation which that material object will give us) which we do not suspect. And as for that object, it depends on chance whether we come upon it or not before we ourselves must die.

For me, on that night 25 years ago, Christmas past was hidden in that snow falling outside that restaurant window and in the reflection of those lights.

I continue each year to look for it.

Merry Christmas!