Originally published in The Plain Talker, December 2007
When I was growing up, time was measured in two increments: seconds, which is how long summer lasted; and forever, which is how long it was until Christmas.
The second that summer lasted was short, but action-packed. Skiing, swimming, snake hunting, frog catching, walking to the graveyard, running from the graveyard-- every moment was a memory in the making.
But at the opposite end of the spectrum was the wait until Christmas. After the non-stop excitement of summer came the black hole of fall. Only two things happened between the last day of summer and Christmas. One was my birthday, which only made things worse, because when you have two things to look forward to, time moves four times slower. The other thing was school, which was even worse, because one school day could last a month, and there were five of those eternities every week.
The only way to survive was to find little things to look forward to. One of those was Halloween. Thinking up a costume, picking out a pumpkin, watching The Great Pumpkin, eating candy and getting sick from eating too much candy could, briefly, make time fly. Usually by the time the sugar buzz wore off, there were only 53 shopping days until Christmas.
Once again, the days would drag by. Some days at school, time would actually stand still. I should know, because I spent a lot of time watching the clock not move. I couldn't wait for school to end each day, so I could rush home to see if the next big event had occurred.
The "next big event" was the arrival of the Sears Holiday Season catalog--- better known as the Wish Book.
I don't think Sears puts out the Wish Book anymore. That's too bad, because if there's anything little kids need, it's a 1600-page comprehensive pictorial of every toy known to man. If it existed in thought or reality it could be found somewhere in the Wish Book.
The key word is "somewhere." Even though the thing was mostly categorized, you never knew when you might see something cool. Like, for instance, Batman sheets and towels, which were listed under "Linens." You couldn't afford to miss a page, lest you miss something that you couldn't live without.
The Wish Book was bigger than a big-city phone book, and each page was crammed full of stuff. I could kill weeks poring over the book, turning down corners on the pages that had something I wanted, and more weeks going back through the book trying to remember exactly what it was that I wanted on each of those pages. ("I must have wanted either the carving knife of the blender, because it sure wasn't the Water Pic… I'll just tell Santa to bring 'em both, and by Christmas maybe I'll remember why I wanted them.")
After compiling a master list of everything I wanted came the hard part: how to work it all into my letter to Santa without sounding greedy. Year by year I picked up a few hints that helped me pare my list. For instance, I noticed that if I asked for something that said "Call For Prices" beside it, Santa wasn't gonna bring it. Likewise, "Some Assembly Required" was a no-go, as was anything that outweighed me, breathed, or had to be registered with the local police department.
After eliminating these items, my list became more manageable, and I could fit most of it into my letter. After double-checking to make sure that it was loaded with compliments (and to ensure that I had left nothing out) I mailed the letter to the North Pole. After that, time slowed back to a crawl, an even slower crawl than before.
There were still a few things to look forward to before the big day, such as Christmas specials. Back then, there were only a few: "Rudolph," "The Grinch" and "A Charlie Brown Christmas" were the three I never missed. (And speaking of Rudolph, I distinctly remember watching it and being magically transported to the North Pole for two hours. Now, though, it's only thirty minutes long! Did someone do some heavy editing to my old favorite, or was my sense of time just defective?)
Finally, at long last, the big day arrived. The anticipation made it next to impossible to fall asleep, but I would finally drop off, though without the promised visions of sugarplums dancing in my head. Of course, I didn't know what sugarplums were (and I still don't) so maybe they were there and I just didn't know it.
Moments after falling asleep, my sister would wake me up. I'm not exaggerating. To this day, she considers staying in bed later than 4:30 on Christmas morning as "sleeping in."
Then, in a flash, the day was over. The presents were opened, the wrapping paper discarded, the big meal eaten. Suddenly, there was nothing to look forward to until… summer. Five months away! You can grow old and die in five months!
That was then. Today, time moves faster, and all of the time. Last Christmas was just yesterday, yet here it is again. Not long ago I turned 15; I've lived more than twice that since then, but it only feels like a month has passed. Where did the time go, and why wasn't I notified?
Remember when a day took a lifetime? What would you give to experience one of those again? How can something that takes so long go so fast?