Christmas always brings a strange mix of joy and melancholy. Early in the season I anticipate, and look forward, with fondness and warmth. As the weeks before become just days I find apprehension. The mood is one of having let someone down. I need no gifts, and the saturation of family is often too much. I look, then, to the unfiltered joy in my little boy’s eyes and see solace. His enthusiasm is honest, and unaltered by the burdens of adulthood. He has a fervent desperation for each twinkling light, each sighting of, “Santa!” He has returned to me the unjaded perspective of the season, he holds up a mirror to my prior joy and shows me what I had forgotten… so now Christmas can be Christmas once again.