Spending Christmas With Family . . . Priceless
December 27, 2009
By: O. J. Cunningham
Together at Christmas -- Priceless
I didn't get a Ferrari for Christmas . . .
No Flying Car . . . No touch-screen laptop . . .
What I did get was far better . . . I had time with my family.
Back in the old days, kids were born, attended local high schools, stayed in town, got jobs, married the girl-next-door, bought a house in a near-by subdivision made babies and lived happily ever after.
Somewhere along the line, that all changed.
Now . . . after high school . . . the kids are off to college (as far away as possible it seems) . . . then grad school . . . and then a job in a state I normally don't often get a chance to visit.
But in the Cunningham family, we have a steadfast rule . . .
Rule #1 . . . Kids will be home for Christmas. That's the deal. That's the rule. And I readily admit, I got both kids to sign on to this program long before they probably REALLY knew what they were agreeing to.
No flights to Paris . . . (Don't even think about it Jessica) . . . No ski trips to Vail.
Home for Christmas is the only option.
Donna and I celebrated Cunningham Christmas 2009 with both children in town -- Jessica (23)+(Florida)+(Steady Boyfriend)+(Good Job) and Chris (25)+(New York)+(Married)+Working on Advanced Degree at Cornell).
What a wonderful time we all had . . . playing video games, board games, chatting late at night with the television playing in the background and spending quality hours eating long, dragged-out meals at restaurants and generally just enjoying each others company.
As I remember my years as a young person, going home for Christmas to MY mom and dad never seemed easy. I seem to remember that I wanted to go to Ohio or Florida with college buddies or to California with friends instead of coming home for the holidays.
Silly me . . .
Sorry Mom and Dad . . . I guess I just never made the connection.
One thing for sure . . . I'm sure glad I made the Home For Christmas Contract with my kids.
'Cuz I can't imagine Christmas without them . . .