Home for Christmas in the late 70's after visiting parents in New Jersey, gathering around our departing car, my dad had said, "drive carefully, you're carrying precious cargo!" With two little ones strapped in the back seat with all the items that would keep them occupied for the next 7 or 8 hours, we pulled away. Headed for Canada.
Memories had once again been rekindled of past Christmas's, especially those of early childhood,just as clear as yesterday. Relatives had been entertained again, favorite spots revisited, familiar streets seen one more time. Impromptu tours of neighborhoods full of lights, as if each house competed for a prize. School yards once full of noises, pressures, heartaches, pain, and strange excitment now stood silent and dark, shut down for the long winter's break. In a short time, the routine would resume as before. But the magic of Christmas in the 50's was never to return. All the while our precious cargo is having their 50's.
Previous chapters of life make way for new ones to be written. The familiar noises, pressures, heartaches, pain, and excitment waited for us again in the days, weeks and years to follow. Same scenario, different location. Each Christmas comes and goes. All the while our precious cargo has grown up.