THIRTY YEARS AGO, David Foster composed a song called "My Grown-Up Christmas List." And every time the song is played on the radio this season, I cry. The lyrics are so beautiful — they hit home for me. And as wondrous as it feels to give and receive actual presents, isn't it those intangible gifts that are the most meaningful?
In the song, the narrator speaks to Santa, asking him if he remembers him or her from when he or she was a child, sitting upon his knee and writing letters to him with fantasies and wishes. (Kelly Clarkson, Michael Bublé and others have recorded it over the years.)
But although now I'm grown up and no longer a child, I still can dream. And my wishes are not for me, but for the world.
Is that why it makes me cry? Because I see our world in such need of the most basic things that can't be bought?
"No more lives torn apart," goes the song. "That wars would never start. That time would heal all hearts. That everyone would have a friend. That right would always win. And love would never end."
I can add a few more.
That all people would practice forgiveness. That differences would be celebrated.
That words meant to lift up would defeat words of tearing down. That tolerance was the rule, not the exception. That couples would try harder to stay together for the sake of their children and family rather than giving up so easily on one another. That family meals would be a daily celebration rather than a quick feeding.
That technology would be an enhancement to life, not a controller of life. That picking up the phone would replace texting. That being thankful would replace being wishful. That honor would replace disrespect. That nobody would ever feel hopeless. And that people would practice grace on every passing day.
This is my grown up Christmas list. And as we head into this extraordinary holiday, many of us celebrating the miracle of the birth of Jesus and all that surrounds that marvelous occasion more than 2000 years ago, I send my thoughts, wishes and prayers for all of our world to embrace peace, love, affection, empathy, respect, grace, tolerance, forgiveness, patience, kindness, gentleness and good will toward all.
Imagine how our world would look, if we all gave those gifts to each other.
Merry Christmas.
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I was recently browsing the Apple Music Hot Song list — a perpetually losing effort to remain cool and connected — and realized, for the very first time, I didn't know what any of them were. Not a one. Not even a vague recollection of something I heard someone talking about. Nothing. Further, some of them were extremely profane with very not subtle references to anatomy and related biological phenomena and geographical locations and things grown people do together.
(If a song immediately comes to mind, that's the one I am referencing. If you're wondering if it's the other one, yes, it's that one, too. If you are my mother, don't try to figure any of this out. Please.)
There's a younger version of myself that's more appalled by my Puritanical descriptions of the songs rather the content of the songs themselves. The current version of myself has reconciled a fierce opposition to censorship with the belief that we don't have to like everything we see or hear. At least I think I have.
Is this just what happens? Do we mellow and soften? Are our edges more rounded? Is this how we "old?" (Full disclosure: I've never been old before, so this is new.)
I am but a month from a milestone birthday — arguably the milestone birthday — and the closer I get, the more I find myself thinking about the significance of it, of getting older, and how you know when you're "old."
My first tussle with this turning of the corner occurred a year ago when I took a crack at SnapChat. After fumbling through the not-so-intuitive interface trying to figure out how to "do a snap," I deleted the app and announced to my wife that I just didn't "get it." (She didn't understand why I downloaded it in the first place.)
Being mad about not getting things is child's play. Being ambivalent about not "getting" things is old person stuff.
More recently, I've begun to entertain the notion that "age is just a number." This is textbook rationalization of the old or nearly old. People would say this when I was younger, and I would graciously smile and nod all the while thinking, "That's exactly what an old person would say, Old Person. I am sorry for your old and sad situation."
It didn't show up the way I thought it would. I figured it would announce itself. As a kid, you assume there's some magical plateau you reach or club you enter where they issue an adult card and you suddenly know everything you need to know, and life is figured out.
Instead, it has just kind of happened, slowly, then all of a sudden. It's like swimming in the ocean. You've got your head down (perhaps not in Galveston), enjoying a warm soak amongst the flesh-eating bacteria, wondering what just touched your leg (okay, in Galveston), then you look back to shore and you're 100 yards away from where you started. You didn't even notice it. (Also, you probably need penicillin.)
Now you're older, but you still don't know everything. Or anything. In fact, you've never been more aware of how much you don't know. You're indeed closer to old than young, but you don't feel like you're old enough to be as old as you actually are.
Until you've downloaded TikTok, of course. Then you'll know exactly where you stand.
P.S. Megan Thee Stallion had the better bars.
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