What Christmas is about

No matter where I go in this city, I pass by those places that have a significant meaning in my life.  There's the library where I had my first real kiss.  The apartment where I first got laid.  The park where we all got drunk together for the very first time.  The house I grew up in.  The school where I met the greatest friends a man could have.  The neighborhood where best friends die.

Late last night, as a means to deal with my difficult time of falling asleep, I decided to take a light jog through my neighborhood.   I always know Christmas is around the corner by the chill in the air.  More so, the obvious signs of Christmas are everywhere; the Christmas lights hanging on the exterior of my neighbor's houses, the plastic Baby Jesus' and manger scenes neatly arranged in front yards and of course, the mere commercialism that inundates every aspect of our lives.

On my street, there is only one house that bares no reminders of Christmas.  At 2:00 a.m., with the surrounding homes all flickering in Christmas glory, this one house could be easily missed.  The darkness, maybe the personified loneliness, in an undecorated home this time of year should lend itself to some provocative questions. 

Back in the neighborhood where best friends die, I knew what Christmas was all about.  There's something to be said about another family that considers you one of their own.  There's a certain ambiance and perspective celebrating Christmas with a real family.  There isn't a greater feeling in the world than seeing your name written on a stocking as it hangs over the fireplace when your name was written by someone unrelated to you.  Christmas is about belonging.  Forget the presents, the materialism, the commercialism.  Forget everything about Christmas except that simple basic human need of belonging.

After my light jog last night, I stood in front of that undecorated house and thought about whomever may live inside.  Was it just an elderly person that is now alone in the world because he or she has survived the hands of time while his or her loved ones did not?  Or was it a forgotten son or daughter?  Maybe, it was just a family that simply chooses not to adorn their home in Christmas lights.  Really, I was probably thinking too much into the reasons behind this one naked house on a street where every house was flickering in Christmas glory. 

Like that neighborhood where best friends die and in that house where I was welcomed as one of their own, this Christmas will be a first for many without someone else; someone else that celebrated this holiday with them the year before.  For them, I imagine they will go through the same routine of hanging a Christmas stocking over the fireplace with that person's name thoughtfully written despite that person's absence. 

It's Christmas.  The time of year we reminisce with loved ones.  The time of year we remember those we once spent this holiday with and more importantly, the one time of year, we make certain those we love know they belong. 

As I stood outside that lonely unlit house last night, I remembered those past Christmases that felt like Christmas.  Those years as a child where mom did her best to make sure there were no empty spaces under our little humble Christmas tree.  Those years in that neighborhood where best friends die, another family treated me as their own.  And all those Christmases in between.

Then, I walked into my house and promised this would be the year, I hang up some Christmas lights.  Because sometimes, even unlit lonely houses want to flicker in Christmas glory so they feel like they belong.