For many of you, this is going to be a totally “duh” post.  But no lie — for me, it was a revelation.  Yes — sometimes my head really is this far up my own ass.

I am never going to get “my” Christmas back.  Fiercely as I may try to hold tight to my traditions, the Christmases of my youth are a thing of the past.  The reliable patterns of each of my families — the familiar conversations and foods, the reminiscing and teasing with cousins — those patterns can’t be sustained as a married adult trying to juggle a whole other family.

When I was little little, on my mom’s side of the family, we all used to go to church together on Christmas Eve.  We’d go to the children’s Mass at a popular St. Paul church while my grandparents stayed behind to finish the cooking and help Santa if need be.  When we left the house for church, we left a tree with a couple presents for each of us underneath it, and a grandma cooking up a storm (who still found time to hassle my grandpa about putting on a clean undershirt). When we returned, the magic had happened.  A spread of food fit for a king was laid out in front of us in the kitchen and dining room.  In the living room, spilling out from under the tree in all directions, were all of our presents.  There were 11 cousins, 6 siblings, and 4 spouses.  There were enough presents for at least 10 times as many people.  It was breathtaking and I can’t think of anything more exciting to a child than a room absolutely bursting with presents.  You couldn’t even walk into the room — you had to work your way in by handing out presents as you found them.  [Looking back, my grandparents and my aunt must have scrimped and saved all year to provide us with all those gifts.  They were by no means well off, but you would have thought they hit the jackpot every Christmas.  As an adult now, it is incredibly humbling to think of such generosity.]

When the last of the cousins stopped believing in Santa, the magic died a little.  All the gifts were laid out before church.  No surprises awaited us upon our return.  The pile of gifts dwindled.  I was still at an age where the presents really were the main attraction of Christmas and I remember how disheartening it was to have that magic gone.

But I got over it.  I found the joy in time with my family.  I learned to enjoy the conversation instead of wondering when we’d finally get to open our gifts.  I ate obscene amounts of food and loved every minute of it.

I adapted.

I will adapt to this too.

I won’t get my Christmas back, but I have a new priority now.  My mission is to give Mac the same Christmas magic that I had.  I want him to rely on and look forward to the same traditions year after year.  I want him to spend weeks knowing exactly what to expect out of this holiday and getting ridiculously excited for it.  I want him to get hungry for the same foods year after year that he knows are reliably served.

I want to give Mac my type of Christmas.  But I know that now it will be our Christmas — the one that works best for my little family.  Just because I can’t have my Christmas back doesn’t mean there aren’t still wonderful Christmases in our future.

I’m not totally at peace with seeing my Christmas slip through my fingers…but I’m getting there.

I assume by now that everyone has heard about what’s going on at Penn State.  I assume all of us have heard of yet another kid coming forward, making that 9 victims that Sandusky allegedly molested. I italicize allegedly because, I mean, c’mon — dude did it.  Not a doubt in my mind.  Not a doubt in anyone’s mind.

I assume that the whole situation makes you as sick as it does me.

Maybe this sounds silly, but as the mother of a boy, my path feels a bit easier.  There are so many obstacles for girls to overcome and it there seems to be so many things to be afraid of for them.  But with a boy, it seems I mostly just need to keep him safe in all the general ways, I need to teach him how to treat people (girls in particular) with respect, and I need to make sure he doesn’t become some sort of thug.  I mean…that’s pretty much it.  Oh sure, it’s not that simple, but those are the broad strokes.

Yet something like this shook me to my core.  I fully intend to have Mac involved in sports.  I come from a football-fueled family.  It’s something that is important to us and at times, has even defined who we are.  I wouldn’t think twice about sending Mac to some camp at a respected University led by respected coaches of a respectable program.  As a parent, I’d have no reason to think anything would ever happen to my son in that venue.

But something like that can happen.  And to an extent, the machine of college football let it happen.  Joe Paterno KNEW about the molestation and did only the bare minimum of what was required of him to put an end to it.  I can’t even wrap my head around it.  Nor can I wrap my head around the fact that other coaches and janitors WITNESSED the molestation and did nothing about it.  I mean…I’m….I’m….I’m speechless.  As a parent — especially the parent of a little boy — it makes me sick. 

I sent my dad an email yesterday asking how I could continue supporting college football (I long ago gave up on NFL football) when the machine of college athletics is what let someone like Sandusky continue having the opportunity to molest young boys.  Because of how powerful football is, everyone involved put the welfare of the institution above the welfare of a child.  9 children, to be exact.  Well…9 for now.  How can I cheer for any team knowing that something like this or any other number of scandals can be going on behind the scenes?

I’ve been trying to gather my thoughts about this whole thing for the last couple days.  To write an intelligible post about how scared I am for my child and other helpless children.  To write about what a scary thing it is to blindly trust others not to harm our children.  To write about what a disappointment it is to watch a hero fall.  I don’t know how to put into words what a crushing blow this whole fiasco has been for me.  I don’t know how to properly convey how it absolutely shook me to my core and has made me sick to my stomach.

For me, this incident is the icing on the cake.  Never has it been clearer that it is time for college athletics to take a long hard look at what they’ve allowed themselves to turn into.

I’m done.  I’m done cheering for teams who make shady deals in order to get the best players.  I’m done cheering for teams who don’t hold their players accountable and allow criminal behavior to go unchecked.  And I’m certainly done cheering for a team that allowed a sexual predator to roam free.