A Christmas Tale

Christmas is fast approaching. I can see the lights in shop windows as they begin to play the same old songs, and the biting cold hangs in the air like a force created solely to push young lovers that much closer together. This will be my first Christmas alone in 5 years, and so I got to thinking about the people I will be spending the holidays with this year; my family.

So with that festive spirit in mind, I'd like to tell you my favourite holiday tale of all. I'm unsure how much this story has changed over the years, but it's importance to me has never wavered.

It's a tale of a young mother and her three children. I remember this tale as well as I remember the young lady upon whom the story rests. She was cold, scared and tired. But more than anything, she was determined. You see, each year Father Christmas would visit her town, perched upon his float, and without fail this young mother would take her three young boys to see him as he rode past. Regardless of the demons and monsters this young lady had fought off throughout the year, nothing was more important to her than the happiness of her children; and everybody knows that nothing makes kids happier than Christmas. 

So with that in mind, the young mother collected her three children and wrapped them up warm and tight, ensuring that they were safe against the elements. She instructed her eldest to hold her right hand and the hand of his younger brother, whilst she held her youngest close to her. As if it were the most important meeting of their lives, the mother marched with her children to see the jolly man in red, but alas, they were too late. The mother had been in another battle with a monster that night and it would seem that battle had cost them those precious moments. 

Where most would simply give up and wander home, something seemed to drive the mother onward. Determined that her children would indeed see Father Christmas, she kept walking, resolute and strong. The family walked for what seemed like hours, following the chimes of the Christmas float as they slowly edged away. During this chase, a most wonderful thing happened. It became a game; a treasure hunt of sorts. The young mother would walk from street to street, convinced that the float was only minutes away as her children beamed with excitement and anticipation. Unfortunately, it appears it wasn't meant to be. The children were not reunited with Santa that night, nor that Christmas. The family went home to fight some more monsters, and the young mother was presumably left feeling like she had failed. 

However, 20-something years later, I sit here recalling this memory as my favourite Christmas adventure ever. Not because we saw Father Christmas, or because we got to have our very own treasure hunt, but because it reminds me of the strength of a parent's love. Especially mine. God only knows what my Mum was going through that night, but for reasons I can only assume boil down to love, she was determined for us to see something special. Little did she know that she was what made that night memorable. As she has done for every single family experience I've ever had. Regardless of all the hardship, I have always known I am loved. 

This will forever be my favourite memory of my Mum, and I don't even know at this point how much of it I've imagined over the years. The reality of the situation isn't important though; because the story is a perfect representation of the amazing type of woman my mother is. 

Suddenly spending Christmas with my family seems like a beautiful prospect.