Reporter’s Notebook -- Lolita Harper

This Christmas promises to be one that will go down on my list of top

10 best life experiences.

Being that I’m only 23, that prediction may be a little premature, but

I honestly can’t imagine anything more wonderful than being able to

witness the joy of the holiday season through the innocent eyes of a

child.

I have been afforded such a luxury by observing my son, Donovan. He

turned 2 in September and is just old enough to realize there is such a

thing as Christmas but not yet old enough to equate it with getting

oodles of presents.

The combination of the two offers a truly special holiday experience

because I know he is excited for all the “real” reasons that often get

buried under the mass marketing and party planning of the season.

I was first clued in to my son’s love affair with the holiday when I

picked him up from preschool one day. It was late and only a handful of

children remained, but while the others were gathered around the

television watching a Disney flick, Donovan was practicing singing

“Jingle Bells” with his teacher.

(I wondered why they were singing Christmas tunes before Thanksgiving

but later found out they were putting on a Christmas pageant and needed

all the practice time they could get.)

I remember watching him clap his hands to the beat of the music (OK --

not quite exactly to the beat, he is only 2) and throw his hands up when

the “Hey!” part of the song came around. That night we sang “Jingle

Bells” in the car on the way home, again in the bath and twice before

bed. The holiday tune has officially been added to our list of greatest

hits, along with “Itsy Bitsy Spider” and “Wheels on the Bus.”

Donovan has always loved singing, so I wasn’t surprised he picked up a

new favorite song at school. I was surprised, however, when I pulled our

Target-bought tree out of storage (sorry, Byron) and Donovan said,

“Mommy, you found our Christmas?”

Before this year, he didn’t really know what Christmas was. Last year,

he did his best to pose for shots in front of my aunt’s tree during our

family celebration but was more interested in the ribbons on the packages

than anything else.

But this year he is acutely aware of the energy and love that

surrounds the holiday.

I got the holiday bug early this year, so it was barely three days

after Thanksgiving that I pulled out the family Christmas decorations. It

didn’t take long, as there are only two of us and we’ve had only two

years to acquire our collection. Our tree -- or pseudo-tree -- is not

glamorous in any way. It sits only 4 feet tall and has the lights already

installed.

It might be the kind of tree you find in some office lobbies, but

Donovan didn’t seem to mind. He watched intently as I put it together and

proudly displayed it atop of two TV trays in the corner of the apartment.

“You like our Christmas, Mommy?” he asked.

“I do.”

We had only a handful of “special” handpicked ornaments from the past

two years, so we headed to Target (I shop there a lot) to buy some filler

ornaments. We were walking the aisles, and Donovan caught a glimpse of

the large holiday display and screeched, “Mommy, look! I wanna go see the

Christmas.”

Usually it is the toy section that creates such excitement, but this

time he wasn’t fazed by the Tonka trucks and Hot Wheels cars. He wanted

to see “the Christmas.”

Back at home, we quickly ripped open our purchases and decorated our

little tree. I put a favorite blanket around the tree to hide its

obviously fake base and the old TV trays it sat on. But the crowning

moment came when I plugged in the lights.

“Ooooh, look at our Christmas,” he said, as if we were looking at a

tree of such magnitude as the ones at South Coast Plaza and Fashion

Island.

Since then, Donovan and I spend our nights driving around Costa Mesa,

looking at houses with Christmas lights. I make it a point to drive

through residential neighborhoods on our way anywhere if it’s after dark.

And, while I’m trying to please him, Donovan often gets mad when I have

to turn before he has a chance to see every house on the street with

lights.

“Mommy,” he scolds me from the back seat. “You forgot that one!”

We have made it a point to visit what we lovingly refer to as the ‘big

Christmas house’ at Santa Ana Avenue and Albert Place in Costa Mesa. We

spend at least 30 minutes there every time we go and go so often we have

a routine of what to see first.

The house provides a special sentiment because I remember walking to

it with my mom, when we lived just a block away.

“Donovan. Did you know that Mommy used to come here when she was

little?” I ask him.

“Mommy, come chase me,” he replies.

So maybe he’s still too young to understand tradition. Despite his age

-- or maybe because of it -- he is teaching me the meaning of Christmas

all over again.

And through all the excitement of the season, Donovan has not asked

for a single gift. He doesn’t even know that he will drown in toys before

the year’s end. Of course, once Christmas morning rolls around, the

purity will be spoiled. Just like it was for his birthday.

Next year, and in years to come, he’ll equate Christmas with presents,

and I’ll have to work harder to emphasize the nonmaterialistic aspects of

the holiday.

But this year, he is teaching me the lesson. And giving me the best

present ever by allowing me to look at Christmas through innocent eyes

again.

* Lolita Harper covers Costa Mesa. She may be reached at (949)

574-4275 or by e-mail at o7 lolita.harper@latimes.comf7 .