Hoping for Hope at Christmastime

Tonight at dinner I asked my grandson what he wanted for Christmas, and he said “A new computer.” He must have read everyone’s expression because he said, “I know that’s really expensive, but it’s okay. Santa can get it for me.”

The simplicity of that belief made me stop a moment, and I wondered how it was that during the course of growing up and growing older, I had somehow managed to lose some of that simple belief myself. It’s a form of innocence, I guess, but it’s not just that. He’s aware of evil in the world. He comments on news stories sometimes that I didn’t even realize he was aware were happening. He participates in live-shooting drills at school—which breaks my heart—and even though he doesn’t grasp the entirety of why he and his classmates do it (and I pray to God that he never does). He’s aware that bad things have happened to kids at other schools. But he’s still a kid and he still believes—in happy endings, in good things down the road, and in Santa himself. I know that last bit won’t go on much longer, but I’ll take it while I’ve got it.

Last week, I wrote a blog piece about what I write and why I write it and someone (Joanne McDonough, I’m looking at you) mentioned that my characters are still at the age where they are not yet jaded by life. Instead they’re young enough to still be full of hope. Do I write characters like that because I would wish it for myself?

Jim and I have gone through some storms in life. By the time anyone reaches the age of grandparenting, who hasn’t? But I admit I’ve lost some of the natural optimism that saw me through most of my younger years. One tough experienced followed by others was enough to make me retreat a bit, make me cautious, make me a lot more reserved than I once was. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I do miss who I once was and what I once had. Maybe that really is why I write what I do.

This is a short piece. I apologize for that: today is my catch-up day and time ran away from me while I wasn’t paying close-enough attention. But I did want to write at least a little something, and dinner tonight struck a chord inside of me.

In this season of children’s wishes, of light and innocence and joy, I hope all of us who might have lost that sparkle we had in our youth, recapture even just a part of it for now, and into the New Year. I know I’ll be hoping that for myself.