Another Year

I remember a New Year's Eve long ago. I was standing at the bottom of the stairs, getting ready to head up to go to bed. Dad shut off the dining room lights and then he shut off the living room lights as well. It felt strange to be downstairs when everything was dark like that.

We climbed the stairs together, up out of the darkness and into the softer glows of the nightlights in the hall and the bedroom. As Dad put me into bed, I remember he said, "Well, I'll see you next year."

How long ago was that? How many New Year's Eves have passed? I don't know. Maybe fifty or more?

Funny how I remember something like that.

Every year, on New Year's Eve, I say the same thing, usually to Sam. I don't know that he thinks it's especially clever, but I say it anyway.

And I remember...

I hope that the year past has treated you reasonably well, and I hope that the coming year treats you even better.