The Best Christmas Ever

When I was a kid, Christmas was the greatest, most magical time of the year. We spent every fall and subsequent winter in eager anticipation of that joyous day when we would receive our prize for being "good" all year, or at least the latter half of it. I passed every Christmas Eve with a blinding case of insomnia. I was so excited that I just couldn't stand it. And like any boy, I snooped early to see what gifts were laid out by the elf. Most of the family thinks that I was just too impatient to wait. Truth is, when you are sitting up all night, unable to sleep - you get bored. What better way to pass the time than to take a peek. One year, my parents landed on a bag of rubber rats from the old Italian man who lived up the street. They strung the rats along the stair rails in hopes that I would see them and immediately pee myself in fear. Well, I almost did just that. As I made my way up the lower flight of the split level home we lived in, I came about to look across the floor into the living room which was just off the stairs. My gaze rested on a pair of red eyes attached to a black mound. A split second and my synapses told me it was a rat. The shock ran to the pit of my stomach and I gasped quietly. A split second later, my brain sent it to me that they were fake. Funny how long it takes your thoughts to materialize when you are traumatized. I still peeked that Christmas and It didn't cure me, but the incident has been logged into Olsen Family Christmas lore by my Father who repeats it to everyone he introduces me to when the topic of Christmas arises.
Those are my memories - my Christmases - the things I remember most from childhood. There are other things I remember, too. Mom and Dad always made us wait and go out to the Tree together each Christmas morning. Things usually got started around 4am. My Brothers and I would be awake by then, trying to make as much noise as possible in order to stir the rest of the house. I also remember that there were always plenty of nuts on the kitchen table, chocolates in our stockings, lots of oranges and Mom reading "Mr. Skip" to us on Christmas Eve. But there was always one thing that I remember most about Christmas. One thing that stood out above all else. Mom and Dad never let us forget just why we had Christmas - a tradition and responsibility that Roxy and I have labored to pass to our children.
Each Christmas Eve, I read the Christmas story from both the Bible and the Book of Mormon. We did it again the other night. It was tough. The two younger children have the attention span of a goldfish. But Ben sat there, glued to me as I read. When I asked questions, he had all the answers. I was so proud of him.
Christmas morning came and went. We opened presents, made a mess of the house, and went to eat Chinese food, just like we do every year. And at the end of the day, we all knelt down for family prayer, like we always do. And my boy Ben bowed his head and thanked the Lord for Christmas and thanked the Lord for the reason we celebrate it and then he thanked the Lord for Jesus Christ.
You spend your whole tenure as a parent lamenting your mistakes, doing your best to make sure that your kids do a little better than you. You teach them and hope it sinks in, and when it does, you feel warm and hopeful inside. This Christmas night, at the end of the day as I listened to my son offer a sincere prayer to his Father in Heaven, I realized that this was the best Christmas ever.