​Changing traditions. Growing is knowing.
I remember when I was a toddler and my mom and dad put up the Christmas tree. It was from the field across the street. We all bundled up and went out as a family and cut it down. It wasn't the best tree we ever had, but seeing all the trees on the car tops brought this memory back as my son was driving us to Tractor supply.
Dad took the clippings and drilled holes in the trunk. He put the cut off branches in where the tree was bare. When he finished, the decorating began. Me and my little sister Laura started to play with the ornaments. Dad yelled at us because he was afraid we would brake them. The colored balls were made of thin glass, and I guess some kind of family heirloom.
We watched the older kids, and mom and dad, dress the tree in all the different pieces. Shiny and colorful. When the tree was finished and no one was in the parlor, my sister and me went back over to the tree. We pulled off some of the decorations we could reach. Dad came in and yelled at us again, and again, and again. 
Being screamed at all the time, made my first memories of Christmas a little bitter.  Even Christmas morning, as we opened presents, he grabbed me and pulled me away from the tree, yelling that if I touched it again I would get spanked. I remember crying every time I got pulled away from it.  I never thought too much of it as I grew up. After a year or two, Dad stopped yelling at us. I guess we finally learned to leave it alone. My little brother John though, was just beginning to walk, and the tree caught his eyes over and over, and yes, dad yelled at him for the entire time the tree was up.
    On Christmas eve, John made his way across the living room to the tree. He grabbed at the small figurines sparkling like magic hanging on the branches. He must have really wanted the one his hand was holding. John was pulling it as hard as he could. He leaned back using his weight, and just as dad entered the room, the tree came tumbling down crashing to the floor. Bulbs and ornaments smashed to bits as they hit the hard wooden floor. John somehow managed to get out of the way of the tree as it was falling. But getting out of the way of dad's wrath, was not as easy.
I remember like it was yesterday. As we grew up, it got better. No one broke the ornaments any more. By now after raising six kids, most of the family heirlooms were gone. Some old wooden ones survived. Two were old nesting Santa ornaments like in the picture, which found their demise during the reign of my six kids growing up. I spent my share of Christmases yelling at my kids to stay off the tree also.
Now we have grand children. When they are here, the first place they go to is the tree. At first, we told them no tree. Then yes, yelling began. Stay away from the tree. And just like Laura, John, and I did, they cried. I watched as my grandson cried. He looked directly at me and cried a pleading sound, pop pop.  In that instant, the grinches heart opened. I remembered. I got out of my chair and went over to him. I picked him up, hugged him, and said I love you. I told him I understood. I let him  pick off any ornaments he wanted.
   I thought back  to when I was his age. The tree, with all the lights and decorations, sparkling and twinkling, tinsel swinging with the smallest breeze, and the beauty and awe of it all. How could any one not want to touch and feel that beauty for themselves. Especially a little absorbent youngster. It took three generations to see the true reality of those decorations. He picked ornaments for a while, then we taught him to put them back on the tree when he was finished with them. No more yelling. It is so much more relaxing letting him have at it.  He does have two favorites. These two Santas.  They are nesting dolls. Only the red one has the inside dolls.  I'll probably put them away this year after Christmas, for him to have later in life.  If they get broken, who cares. Seeing the curiosity and joy in his eyes, is more important than any old decorations.
  It's funny how our minds work. Just last week he grabbed an open water bottle and poured it on the floor. He knew better, but the look of intrigue on his face as the water was pouring out, was indescribable. Of coarse the first reaction from us was to scream at him NOOO.
  A couple minutes later, I was in his mind again. I got a bottle and opened it. I sat with him and we poured the whole thing out onto the floor. I asked him if that was cool and he answered, "ahuh", with a great big smile. We talked him and I. About even if it is cool, we shouldn't spill things on the floor on purpose. Out side is the place for things like that. We are learning together.
I am trying to see things from his point of view today. It's not evil in the children, it is just the way they learn.   It's the way we all learn.
Well, enough rambling from me. Keep Christmas and every day fun for us all.  Wishing a quiet but joyous Christmas time for everyone. And in case you didn't hear it today, I love you!