The Ghosts of Christmas Past

Wow.

Christmas Day, 2005. I remember taking this. I remember taking about 10, actually, and this was the best I could come up with; in just about every other shot, he, she or both of them were not having a photogenic moment.

Seeing a picture like this brings on a flood of thoughts and emotions—to include marveling at what a chubby little chunk she was—but the most predominant of those is: Zan is only 2-and-a-half years old in this picture … and because he was our first, and we didn’t know any better, and he showed some exceptional cognitive and intellectual abilities for his age, and, physically, was very, very large for his age, I think we treated him in a manner that was more demanding than the manner in which we now treat his 3-and-a-half-year-old sister.

It’s hard to know for sure if my recollection of that time accurately mirrors reality, but even if it doesn’t, that’s how I feel about it now … and it makes me wish I could go back and coddle him more, and be less demanding of him. (Christ, it doesn’t take much to choke me up these days; pardon me while I dab my eyes for a moment.)

For Christmas this year, I’d like someone to give me a manual on how to be a perfect parent … because God knows I’m mostly making this shit up as I go … but I guess that’s part of what this whole parenting thing is about; he’s teaching me as much about myself as I’m teaching him about how to function in this crazy world.

I wish they could stay as innocent as they were when this was taken … but since they can’t, I’ll settle for savoring every bit of their excitement and wonderment about the holiday season this year, and for as many years to come as I can.