It's still 2008, in this time zone anyway, and my daughters are still awake, trying to make it to midnight. So I invited them out to watch the ball drop in New York in case they didn't make it. And as they sat on my lap, I was reminded of a poem I wrote on New Year's Day 2000, when my eldest daughter was just three months old. So I dug it out and read it to them. I share it here:
Old Long Ago
She was in her father's arms
as December turned into the year
they said would end us all.
She looked at him up from her rest
with eyes that hadn't yet changed
from their native blue--
unblinking on his face as
he watched the face of his
grandfather's clock.
He remembered the story his father
told, of when he was a boy and his aunt
on New Year's Day said she couldn't
believe it was already 1950.
He remembered when he was a boy--
flashbacks, mostly, from random faceless
years--of dropping the old calendar (December face up)
into the trash, saying "goodbye nineteen seventy something"--
of standing on the street oustide his grandmother's house
and taking a ladle to her biggest pan--
of running in the snow around his cousin's house
in pyjamas and moon boots,
faces red from the cold, lungs scraping for breath
and hearts pounding.
And he wondered what she would remember
about so many New Year's Eves
from old long ago.
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It had become a tradition in our home to run through the snow/ice/rain whatever as the clock struck midnight. There was always that extreme temperature thing going. I'd take each of my girls a lap and by the time we were done, I was rather tired and in danger of freezing to death.
Well, this year was a lot different. Besides being in Southern California where the temperatures aren't nearly cold enough to be considered anything beyond mild, the girls were off on their own little adventure and Jennifer and I spent the evening at a New Year's Eve party. Although there were patio heaters going, the temperature was nothing like those cold, cold nights of yesteryear with the kids. I don't think it was much less than 50 degrees. Upon the new year, we didn't run around with the girls. I suffered from a little melancholy. Times change, people grow up and aren't as reliant on old Dad.
It's good to have memories. It's also good to make new ones.
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