My daughter will most likely have only vague -if any- memories of her first visit to the Macy’s Light Show today. My own memories of the show (and Santa train ride along the bannister of the Mezzanine level, which no longer exists) seemed distant until I was holding my daughter and watching that old Frosty wave his arm goodbye. All of a sudden, I was back under the Eagle as a child, over-bundled and gloves slightly damp, ecstatically and anxiously awaiting Christmas.
There’s something about having a child that brings the magic back into our lives. I want to do everything, now: deck all the halls and bake all the cookies, see every single twinkle light in the city and hang more in my windows.
How much will she remember? Who knows?
But I will remember everything about today: the sun, the chill in the air, the smell of the grease trucks lining the streets off Market grilling up their sandwiches for lunchers, the lights of the show, the organ, Dicken’s Village, still there, Scrooge still shaking in his boots under the creepy bony finger of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, and the warmth of my daughter’s cheek next to mine, as the colors and sounds all filter in through her eyes and ears, and form the foundations of what I hope will be a very happy childhood.