Christmas means something or nothing to everyone on the planet. Everyone either falls into one category or the other. To some it’s the most annoying time of year when the Cool Whip tubs are thawed out to be added into Aunt X’s special mystery fluff you will be forced to take a bite of, a time of deep romance for those tacky lovers, and a time for all teenagers to roll their eyes at their parents Griswold-esque ideas for the perfect holidays.

 

I used to fall into these categories (save the tacky lover Christmas…), until one day, not too far back ago, I had a strong and powerful realization.

 

It happened sort of in the middle of a daydream; it was something subconscious I’d always carried, but had never serviced: my time at home is running out.

 

Granted my parents tell me I’m always welcome; however, college and changes are inevitable and I, a seventeen year old victim of holiday cheer for the last seventeen years, submitted willingly to making sure my parents have the happiest holiday they could ever want.

 

I started small with my efforts; I would spend less time on my Timeline when I came home from school to start my homework. I would then venture to my stiff seat in the living room, and sit and watch at least one Christmas special per night.

 

I then increased my efforts and began setting aside my assigned reading to help bake batches of fudge alongside my mother. I began talking to her as I worked over the boiling sugar, and from the look in her eyes, I knew that she was absorbing this time.

 

I helped put our Christmas tree up with my energetic nephew (who is hard to control), I made more candy with my mom, I went on a drive to look at Christmas lights, and I even did something that I would have never previously done before–I listened to a bedtime story about a crayon who saves Christmas.

 

And during this all, I had a realization.

 

I am usually to be found inside of my room, all alone. I prefer my solitude, and that’s shocking to most people. It’s quite difficult for me to break myself of the habit of walking into my house, showering, and going straight to my room with a bundle of snacks in my arms.

 

But when I caused chaos in my life by switching it up and spending time with my parents, I found that the time spent with them was so valuable and amazing. I found myself recharged at the start of a another day, and I also found myself looking forward to hugging my parents and sitting on the tiny loveseat adjacent to their couch in the living room watching Christmas specials with them. Their ideas of quality time were no longer a thing of torture, but a source of excitement for me.

 

Why my opinion suddenly changed is not really clear, but I do think that seeing them having fun and getting to spend time with them with the understanding that my time is running out, made it all the more precious.

So I say to all of my peers, spend time with your family. You’ll miss it someday.