We are at the peak of the nostalgia season.
We had our rendezvous with The Ghosts Of Christmas Past and will soon embark on our year-end Auld Lang Syne, reviewing where we’ve been and wondering where the new year will take us.
It’s incredible to think that 2021 is ending much as 2020 began.
Here we were not long before Thanksgiving, thinking that this holiday season would be a joyous return to a more familiar Christmas where our biggest challenge was deciding what to give the kids, what to give your spouse, and how many other gifts will you need.
Even then, when Covid was still in our rearview mirrors, we all knew Amazon was going to make our decisions easier than traipsing through a mall.
But then, all of a sudden, as the night before Christmas drew near, who should appear but another Greek variant to spread fear in lieu of cheer.
Vaccinated and boosted, we, nonetheless, altered our plans as friends and family members developed symptoms and when a positive attitude had to be avoided at all costs.
Oh Holy Night surrendered to Omicron.
This is where I wax nostalgic.
I want to go back.
I want to go back to Christmas 1960.
We didn’t have Amazon, but we did have Macy’s in Parkchester.
We didn’t have a color TV or YouTube, but we saw all the Christmas Specials that one day would be classics.
I got a set of Lionel Trains.
I got a Kodak Fiesta camera with a built-in flash and a roll of black and white film.
Bing sang White Christmas.
Johnny Mathis sang Sleigh Ride.
Nat sang The Christmas Song.
They were all played on our HiFi (Who had a stereo in 1960?)
Yeah, I was ten, and I remember what I want to remember, which means I probably am filtering out many unpleasant things. But, there is one thing to be sure, it was a simpler time where our only threat was dealt with by putting our head under our desk when the siren wailed as we practiced for H Bombs hitting The Bronx.
It’s easy wanting to turn the clock back to a simpler time, but the reality is we really don’t want to.
Reality is only a state of mind that we choose to ignore. We let other people tell us how bad things are even when they don’t know we exist. We were all inconvenienced by this new variant, and I pray that it remains only an inconvenience for us all.
When I think about Going Back, I always try to remember that the medicine of the late twentieth and twenty-first centuries has enabled me to remain to ponder the joys and mysteries of life and that my successful remission should not be wasted by any negativity that gets flung my way.
So, when the ball falls ushering in 2022, I will remain optimistic about the future even while I honor the past.
I’ll be watching the Honeymooners!