After a conversation with a friend about shopping for the holidays, I was reminded of this post from several years ago. The thought of Christmas shopping in a large and extremely busy mall still fills me with dread and makes my skin turn into something resembling a pale, plucked chicken.
Since my nephews are much older and we have scaled down on our gift giving, my shopping is done in a geographical location not far from my home or online, saving me the probability of looking into many months of therapy.
I hope you’ll give it a read. I’m sure my Dad is up their smiling, still wishing he could stroll the hallways of the Yorkdale Mall a day or two before Christmas.
My father used to love to Christmas shop. There was a certain spark in his eye, a unique scintillation that was only ignited when he was donning his overcoat and preparing to get lost in the churning vortex of people at the busiest mall in Toronto. His exuberance always makes me think of the childlike excitement of Darren McGavin’s character in A Christmas Story when he opens his prized “leg lamp”. Blood would rush to his cheeks, there was a noticeable spring in his step and his baritone voice softly began to echo the songs of the season. His melodic tone would lure us into his Christmas trance and we were transported into the beauty of all things festive and giving – until we got to the mall.
Taking a child to that mall during the Christmas rush is like taking a lone goldfish from its tranquil bowl and…
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