Spending Christmas Morning with My 3-Year-Old Grandson

There’s a singular delight that envelops Christmas, especially when you’re spending it with your spirited 3-year-old grandson. The joy reflected in his curious eyes as they see freshly the amazement of this joyful day is a thrill to witness.

The anticipation in the house is palpable as tiny feet patter across the floor, eager to uncover what awaits under the glistening tree. Wrapping paper flies like confetti, revealing carefully chosen gifts that elicit squeals of delight. The joy on their faces, pure and unfiltered, is nothing short of heartwarming.

Engaging with a 3-year-old on Christmas morning is like conducting a symphony of happiness. Every moment becomes an opportunity for fun and exploration. It’s not just about the gifts; it’s about the time spent together, creating memories that will last a lifetime. These moments aren’t just about play; they’re about fostering imagination, creativity, and the bond between you.

The joy of Christmas extends beyond the day. It’s about sharing giggles over spilled cocoa, and a kitchen filled with the aroma of freshly baked cookies—creating traditions that will become the fabric of their childhood memories.

I try to remember, it’s okay if things aren’t picture-perfect. I embrace the chaos and the occasional meltdowns—they’re all part of this beautifully messy journey.

I’ve spent most of the last decade running away from my prior life, determined to forge a new future by retiring abroad. This Christmas, I reveled in the magic of the season and let the wonder in my grandchild’s eyes remind me of the beauty in life’s simplest pleasures. Instead of walking around saying, “Bah! Humbug!” I resolved to embrace every cuddle, every shared giggle, and every heartfelt “I love you.” After all, these moments are the real gifts that make this season truly charmed.

I’d love to include some photos of him making a gingerbread house, riding the Christmas train at the mall, and opening presents, but his parents have the good sense to be cautious about putting him out on the internet. So instead, I give you our Florida weather forecast from Christmas Eve:

Every author reaches at least one point in creating a book where the entire concept seems hopelessly overwhelming. For me, it comes when I’ve set all the characters and plotlines in motion and it’s time to weave the strands together into a coherent tapestry. Sci-fi writers don the mantle of futurists, envisioning worlds yet to come while dissecting the present with a discerning eye. It’s a canvas for contemplating the rapid evolution of technology, society, and human behavior. Particularly in a world like today’s, where changes are coming fast and frantic, making no sense and threatening disaster, it helps to imagine what might happen in five hundred years. It brings perspective.

The beauty of science fiction lies in its ability to extrapolate current trends and speculate on their potential outcomes. As I work on the Savage Earth novels, the worldbuilding involves delving into the impact of scientific advancements, societal shifts, and the fusion of humanity with technology. By envisioning these futures, my goal is not only to entertain, but also to engage in a deep exploration of the forces propelling our world forward. I firmly retain the basic facts of human nature and conceive how they might collide with the consequences of change.

This book trilogy examines the societal implications of genetic engineering, faster-than-light space travel, and the restructuring of human experience through technology. Ultimately, though, it will be a story of human beings questioning the ethical, moral, and existential dilemmas of culture, connection, and commitment (in that sense, all science fiction is just a retelling of Shelley’s Frankenstein). The “what ifs” that steer the trajectory of the heros and villains include continuations of today’s deep shifts in the meanings of family and love, as well as of power and art.

Maybe that’s why I keep feeling a profound urge to write poetry of the unfathomable currents of life’s vicissitudes. Ultimately, science-fiction authors aren’t just storytellers; we are observers of the present, interpreters of the past, and architects of the future.