This was the first Christmas in 24 years that I did not receive a dozen golf balls as a present.
I did not receive a bag of tees either.
Honestly, I didn't receive a single ball or even one single tee.
I reflected on this experience one morning over my holiday break from teaching and was greatly saddened by this revelation. In spite of the obvious weight of a box of golf balls or this unmistakable sound a bag of tees makes when you rattle it, I always looked forward to receiving and opening those gifts. Perhaps it was the leftover child in me that longed to break free every year in late December.
But the more that I thought about it, the less I missed the box of balls and the bag of tees.
Twenty years from now, I won't remember that I didn't get any golf balls, tees, a glove or anything else related to my favorite pastime. I will remember my wife, my daughter Sarah and myself creeping into Emma's room to gently wake her up on Christmas morning so that Her sister could finally open her presents. I will remember her sitting straight up in her bed and gasping "Santa!" when the realization finally hit her that overnight Santa had come and gone perhaps leaving for her underneath the Christmas tree the book and the baby she asked for. I will remember the puzzled looks on their faces when examine the partially eaten cookies, the empty glass of milk, and the missing reindeer food that was carefully placed the night before as a simple "thank you" for whatever you left. I will remember the sight of two sisters silently immersed in play, surrounded by presents underneath a twinkling tree with smiles as wide as a river.
Maybe the magic of Christmas isn't getting what we want. Maybe the real magic of Christmas is getting what we need.
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