By: Patrick Yost: Editor and Publisher

    I always wondered when it would happen. I always wondered at what point I would look around and, despite a sophomoric sense of humor and, thankfully, a raging metabolism rate, the inevitability of age would hit.

    Christmas Day, 2008.

    Christmas for my family of five has been for the past 17 years frantic nights of toy building, stocking stuffing and early morning discoveries.

    Christmas, and I understand and appreciate the religious significance of the holiday, has always been for me about children.

    Life, for that matter, has always been for me about children.

    Children allow us to experience once again the firsts of our own youth. The first time you walked into a pro football stadium with your dad and saw, in living color, your favorite team.

    The first time you sat around a campfire.

    The first time you rode a bike (without training wheels), the first time you drove a car (without wrecking), the first time you won a medal or scored a touchdown.

    The first time you walked into a warm living room with a tree blazing with colored lights and decorations and there in all its complete glory is your first dump truck which later becomes your first train set.

    It is joy and bliss and conformation that all is right with the world, at least for this day.
    These are the firsts that we as dutiful and doting parents live for and the last 17 years have been good.
    This year, too, was good.

    But children age, unfortunately, they quit laughing at the same stupid jokes, the dump truck becomes an Ipod and the train set becomes a car. Not less, by any means, but different.

    And suddenly you realize that the next round of firsts are going to lack the innocence and sweetness that small children bring into a home.

    Suddenly, you feel older, not wiser, mind you, but older.

    There are girlfriends and text messages and Facebooks and computer games that I no longer have the dexterity or desire to play.

    It’s still sweet, sometimes and still a beautiful moment in the sun, Christmas morning.

    But you’re goofy for thinking so, stupid, frankly for pointing it out.
    We all get older. Life moves forward whether we want it to or not.
    And Christmas doesn’t last nearly as long.

Published in the January 1, 2009 edition.