Christmas memory

 

A week or so before Christmas, just after supper dishes were cleared and pajamas weren’t quite on yet, my mother and father would ask the question we were secretly waiting for every evening:
“Do y’all want to go look at Christmas lights?”

Of course we did. There was never any hesitation—just a mad scramble for coats, shoes, and the backseat of the car. Even if we’d already been out the night before, we acted like it was a brand-new adventure, because somehow it always was.

As we drove slowly through nearby neighborhoods, anticipation hummed louder than the car engine. My brother, sister, and I took our duties very seriously. One child per side of the car, necks craned left and right like eager owls, calling out sightings as if we were trained holiday scouts.

“Lights over here!”
“Big Santa!”
“Reindeer—two of them!”

We loved the giant blow-up Santas that leaned a little too far forward, the glowing reindeer frozen mid-prance, and every lawn that looked like Christmas had exploded all over it. Some displays were tasteful, some were questionable, and some probably caused the electric meter to spin wildly—but we loved them all.

Still, our favorites were always the nativity scenes. Some were softly lit, others barely visible, and we’d squint hard, searching for baby Jesus like it was a holy game of hide-and-seek. There was something comforting about spotting Mary and Joseph, even from a moving car, like a quiet reminder of what all this twinkling and glitter was really about.

Once—just once—we got to drive through a live nativity, and that memory has never dimmed. There were real barn animals, hay scattered everywhere, a manger, and people dressed as Mary and Joseph. Seeing it all in real life brought Christmas off the lawn and straight into our hearts. It felt sacred and magical all at once, the kind of moment you don’t realize will stay with you forever—but it does.

When I became a parent, we carried that same tradition forward. After dinner, we’d pile into the car and go searching for lights, listening to the excited shouts from the backseat, just like before. And now, my children are doing the same with their children, scanning neighborhoods for glowing Santas, crooked reindeer, and—most importantly—baby Jesus.

Some traditions don’t need improving; they just need repeating. Even now, as the season approaches, I find myself looking a little longer at decorated houses, smiling at the lights, and remembering the joy of those simple rides. Christmas still shines brightest when it’s shared—preferably from the passenger seat, with someone shouting, “Look over there!” 🎄✨