In around one hour, it will be Christmas. I am sitting here, close to the fire, my parents are slowly drifting off to sleep, and the dog is snoring by the fire.
I remember as a child I would do my utmost to stay awake until Christmas Day, my eyes slowly close as the night grew longer. But no matter what I would stay awake. Fast-forward twenty or so years, the coco has been replaced b vintage whisky, but the resilience to see the day in stays the same. Over the past few days the childhood memories that used to evoke my life are being replayed over and over like a movie on Christmas repeat.
Last night I sat with my parents and the neighbours of 36 years came in. The men shared the usual beers; the women cracked open the wine. We were watching ”The top 40 Christmas songs of all time”, talking about why Wizard and Slade were overplayed and how the Pogues and Kirsty McColl never get the credit they deserve.
Somehow each song made the memories come flooding back. Laughing about memories of yesteryear, crying with tears over the people who were no longer with us. The old tinsel has disintegrated, the trees have lost their pines, but as children turn into adults and adults into pensioners, the memories stay as strong as ever.
We grow with these people, we live through these people. They are almost as part of us as we are. The highs, the lows, they stick with us no matter what. Like the clothes that change fashion and the hairs that disappear from our heads experience is an ever-changing trend.
Each year I know that it could be the last that I share with some of these people yet of course I am always thinking that it’s the same thing each year.
No matter how bad my dad’s jokes are no matter how tough my mum’s turkey. It is something that I know one day I will not have the luxury of having. As my dad awakes from his whisky slumber and my mum snores next to me, I know that its and endless memory.
