When I was a little kid, everyone in our neighbourhood had a Christmas party. From what I can remember, it was mostly adults laughing and talking over drinks and snacks, and admiring the host family’s decorations. We kids drank plenty of soda, ate sweets, played games, and talked about the things we wanted Santa to bring us.
One year (I don’t think I was even in Kindergarten yet, so it was probably 1971 or 1972), the party at our house seemed even bigger than usual. More people. More drinking, maybe. At one point, I was actually a little afraid of being trampled. I grabbed my younger brother, Tadpole (still a toddler, then), and made him sit on an ottoman with me in front of the television.
Normally, Tadpole wouldn’t have done anything that I suggested, certainly not sitting down… he was kind of hyper. I think, that night, he was as nervous as I was about being run over. That, and there was the lure of the television…
On screen, a huge log burned away in somebody’s fireplace. Christmas music played. Mesmerized, the two of us stared at the flames.
Mom came by and stood behind us. “There you are! What are you guys up to?”
“Watchin’ the fire, Mom,” Tadpole said, his eyes never leaving the TV screen.
“You’re… watching it?” She sounded surprised.
“Yeah,” I said. “We’re waiting to see what happens!”
Mom laughed. She walked away, calling for my father. Soon we heard him laughing, too. Then a bunch of other people joined in.
My brother and I looked at each other, shrugged, and went back to watching the Yule Log.
We enjoyed the holiday music, but, uh… well, we were kind of disappointed with the lack of action sequences.