Imagine for a minute that there was a man who adored George Washington. Every year on the anniversary of Washington’s birth, this man would use the freedoms that Washington fought to give him in order to give to others. Now imagine that this man dies. Years later, the stories of his kindness become twisted to include magic and strange traditions. Worse, the reason he did these things is completely forgotten. And the greatest tragedy is that every year on Washington’s birthday, the people honor the man rather than Washington, the one the man adored. The sad part is that if you transfer this to Christmas, you have the true story of Jesus and Saint Nicholas. We should be ashamed of ourselves.

While my children were still infants, my children’s mom and I decided we wouldn’t honor Santa Claus in our house, but we’d instead teach our children the real story of Santa Claus. Both my children know that Saint Nicholas was a good man who loved Jesus and who gave much to the poor, but who died many years ago. It’s not taken one bit of joy out of their Christmas season. Perhaps the opposite, in fact. For each Christmas, we each get to be Santa Claus as we follow and worship Jesus.

Last night, my son said one of the best things I’ve heard him say in a while. And he says neat stuff all the time. (He has wisdom far beyond his 4 1/2 years.) He and his sister were sitting in bed with me and she asked me if I’d go get a particular toy for her out of her room. My son quickly jumped up and said, “I’ll do it! Boys are supposed to get things for girls, right dad?” I’m so proud of my boy.

And while I’m talking about proud dad moments, my daughter said something that made me smile on Friday. We were in Mount Vernon and I pointed out the tall statue in the middle of the square. “Who do you think that is up there?” I asked Elnora. “Jesus!” she said. “He died on the cross for us.”

I love my children so much.

There was a time in my life that I tried to be hip in that clothes that I wore. (Note I didn’t say I was ever actually good at it.) But that was a long time ago. For many years now, I’ve known that I feel most comfortable wearing my work clothes. But the more I thought about it, I realized it wasn’t just any work clothes that did the trick. I had to be wearing jeans, a flannel shirt, a hooded (zippered) sweatshirt, and a baseball hat. I have a few of each that I use as work clothes, so that’s my typical work attire. In fact, I sometimes wear far too many clothes in the summertime and far too few in the wintertime, just to maintain that outfit. Wearing those clothes isn’t just comfortable in a physical sense; doing so makes me feel more at peace. I feel at home. I’ve always attributed that to the fact that I truly like to work outdoors and in the garage, and somehow wearing that type of clothing brings me closer to what I like to do most. But I’ve never really put much thought towards it. Which must be why I never realized something very obvious. The attire that I like the most, the clothing that I would wear each and every day if I could pull that off at my job, is exactly what my dad used to wear in my earliest memories of him. How is it that I never realized this? And what exactly does this mean? I’ve got a feeling that I’m going to be pondering this for some time.

My house was built in 1961, my garden tractor in 1983 and my mower sometime in the 1950s. My truck is 21 years old now and my car just turned 11. My lone pair of dress shoes are likely older than me. And the more I think about it, the more glad I am. I am a very risk averse person. I don’t go looking for adversity nor do I just like all old things. But I believe very strongly that there is great value in contentment and in making use of what you have. And furthermore, there is great freedom in letting go of perfection. As a dad, these are some of the things that I strive most to teach my children.