Little Gen asked five-year-old Eli what kind of tree his Christmas tree was, to which, after some pause, he replied, “A pathetic one.”
Before you jump to the conclusion that Eli is a prematurely disillusioned, overly melancholic, Charlie Brownish type, you should know that he was merely expressing an aforementioned adult pronouncement on a tree that was not holding its ornaments in proper perkiness.
But that’s kind of how I feel about Christmas since becoming an adult. In comparison to waking up Christmas morn in anticipation only a child’s imagination can create, the practicality of adult celebration lacks the magic I used to enjoy. It's kind of pathetic. Once my very favorite holiday merely for the feel, hard as I try to muster genuine appreciation, Christmas seems lacking in its former luster.
And then this happened.