My dad has put up Christmas lights for as long as I can remember: fat, multi-colored bulbs strung along the roof of our house. Even though white lights, icicle lights, and others have come into fashion since my childhood, he's continued to use the same style for decades.
When I was younger, it was an annual tradition for my parents to drive my siblings and me around the neighborhoods admiring other families' Christmas displays. In college, I had a friend, John, who was a Christmas fanatic. For years, we'd get together after the Christmas Eve church service to traverse the neighborhoods, offering live commentary and deciding which house had the best showing. I became attached to houses with oversized colored bulbs. One year, John got $5 gift cards to City BBQ, and we left them in the mailboxes of the houses we judged the winners.
This past Sunday night we visited family friends to partake in their neighborhood's annual tradition. Houses in the neighborhood light luminaries, and the neighbors gather for a December walk. There was even a food truck that served donuts and hot chocolate. It was a cold evening after so much warm weather, so it wasn't too surprising that we saw a lot of people at the food truck--and almost no one enjoying the lights.
Still, the eight of us walked a few blocks to the most impressive display in their neighborhood--one of those computer-choreographed shows set to music. We hung out on the sidewalk, admiring the pulsating lights. The kids danced (okay, I did too). The homeowner walked out to offer us candy canes. It was a gift-card deserving performance, for sure.
Despite my admiration for other people's lights, I've never put them up myself, even though my children have asked. I'm willing to put a lot of energy into traditions I care about, but electronics feel too much. A wreath on the front door is all I manage for external Christmas decorations. Maybe that's why I'll be all the more glad to see my dad's colorful lights when we drive home for Christmas in a few weeks.
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