I took my Christmas tree down yesterday, December 27th.
That might be the earliest I have ever de-Christmasized my home. No twelfth day, no hanging stockings, no lingering lights. Just back to regular life.
I remember my mom taking the Christmas tree down during Super Bowl XIII, January 21st, 1979. The Steelers beat the Cowboys. I remember that because I remember the feeling of Christmas being officially over at the latest date in my life.
Here is something funny about age and memory: if you were born in 1966, you can always remember how old you were when certain Super Bowls were played.
We were getting ready to turn twenty when the Bears beat the Patriots 46–10 in Super Bowl XX. We turn sixty this coming year as Super Bowl LX is played on February 8th.
That is how the high school Class of 1984 can keep time. Not with calendars, but with championship football games.
Remembering dates gets harder the older I get, not because my mind slips, but because the milestones pile up. There are more to remember.
2026 will be the 53rd anniversary of the day I mastered cursive. I walked up to the blackboard in Sister Francis Irene’s classroom and nailed the word little. Carefully crossing each t separately, the way we were taught when penmanship still mattered. That was the first time I felt mastery. The first time I knew I could do something cleanly, correctly, and on my own.
2026 also brings the semiquincentennial. That is a mouthful. For me, it will be “the bicentennial plus fifty.”
Years ending in six are my decade years. I turned ten in 1976. My parents were getting divorced. I turned twenty in 1986 when the Bears won XX. I turned thirty in 1996. That year is a little foggy. I turned forty in 2006 and became a dad when I met George. I turned fifty in 2016. My mom died and my marriage was running on its final fumes.
I don’t know what sixty brings in 2026.
My faith tells me good things will happen in 2026, but I’m old enough to be prepared for the worst. Someone I know will probably head to heaven. My company could shut down if business keeps slowing. I’ve lived through that kind of fear before, and once you’ve tasted it, it never fully leaves you.
My kids bring volatility into my life, especially the youngest. The daughter who turns thirteen in 2026. The one with the oldest dad in her class.
My neck is stiff. My knees, ankles, and hips argue with the alarm clock every morning. My ears ring constantly and I only use my schwantz to go pee.
2026 isn’t exactly advertising itself as a banner year. So, I will keep chugging and go with the flow. Just play it by ear and see what next year brings.
I think I am continuing down the path of becoming an introvert. I may even have to change one of the adjectives in my email signature. Yes, adjectives. Pronouns are limited and too political. I am not a him/he. I am gregarious/grateful. Though I’ve considered changing gregarious to unsociable in 2026, but let’s just get there first.
Hopefully one of the O’Brien sisters won’t be correcting me on January 5th for chalking the wrong year like she did in 2025.
Don’t worry, I am not changing my signature adjectives, and I will still be searching for astonishment and gusto in 2026. There will be days when I put a smile on the sun and days when I don't.
What are your adjectives?
If you use pronouns, maybe follow my lead and switch to adjectives in 2026. There is more freedom in an adjective. Adjectives give you more room to breathe.
Let’s call 2026 the year of positive adjectives. Let’s go with that, Chalkheads.
