Ringing in a Bright New Year

 Wrapping up our December journey with warmth, laughter, and a hopeful wish for the year ahead.

When I look back on the New Year’s Eves of my childhood, I can still feel the thrill of staying up almost late enough to be considered a grown-up. I must have been around eleven when my parents began heading out with friends to celebrate, leaving me, the eldest, in charge of my brothers. I wore my sudden authority like a badge of honour, though my brothers weren’t convinced of it. Our shared goal was noble: make it to midnight and ring in the new year like champions.

Of course, most years our eyelids gave up the fight long before the clock did. It wasn’t until I was about fourteen that we finally managed to stay awake all the way to the magic moment. And when that long-awaited stroke of midnight arrived, we made sure the universe knew it.

We grabbed pots, pans, and whatever wooden spoons we could wrestle from the kitchen drawers and stormed out into the cold night air, banging and clanging with all the enthusiasm of a marching band that had never practiced a day in its life. We lived on a ten-acre plot with the house smack in the middle. Our nearest neighbour was two miles away, which was probably for the best, we certainly would have woken them, their livestock, and their ancestors.

There’s something wonderfully pure about the noise children make to celebrate a new beginning. It’s never polite or restrained. It’s joyful chaos. It’s hope in audible form.

Years later, when my own children were about the same age, my wife and I repeated the ritual, this time with actual neighbours close enough to hear us. And hear us they did. But instead of phoning in noise complaints, they simply came out with their own pots and spoons, laughing and cheering right alongside us. There we were, families ringing in the new year under a cold starlit sky, our breath puffing out in clouds as our children created a percussive symphony that surely startled a few birds awake.

My favourite New Year’s memory, though, happened at a party when my nephew was about two. My wife’s grandfather, well into his late sixties disappeared upstairs just before midnight. We assumed he had gone to grab a snack or escape the noise for a moment, as wise men sometimes do. But when the clock struck twelve, down he came, grinning from ear to ear, carrying my nephew like a prize turkey.

My nephew wore a glittery “Happy New Year” hat that was far too large, slipping over his eyes. But the real show was the diaper he wore, the current year written across it in sparkly letters, paired with a ribbon wrapped around him that read, simply and dramatically, “GOODBYE.” A symbolic gesture? A family tradition? Or just Grandpa’s sense of humour? Hard to say. But it was unforgettable. My nephew yawned through the whole spectacle, blissfully unaware that he had just become the ceremonial New Year baby.

As the years went by and I inched my way toward retirement, my midnight stamina… did not. I found myself circling back to those childhood days when staying up late felt like climbing Everest. At some point, I quietly decided that ringing in the new year at 10 p.m. counted just fine. Midnight is a suggestion, not a requirement. And let me tell you, toasting with sparkling cider at 10:00 feels every bit as festive. maybe more so, given that I’m still awake enough to enjoy it.

Whether you ring in the new year with a roar or a whisper, at midnight or two hours early, with pots and pans or a gentle clink of glasses, the beauty of this night is that it belongs to everyone. It doesn’t require a fancy outfit (unless you’re a toddler in a labelled diaper), a lavish party, or perfectly timed fireworks. All it needs is a moment, any moment, when you pause and think:

Here we go. A fresh start. Another chance. Another chapter.

And perhaps, just perhaps, a quiet gratitude for having made it through the old year, with its ups, its downs, and its puzzle-pieces-that-did-not-quite-fit. We carry our memories, our lessons, and our joys into the next year like little lanterns lighting our path forward.

As this December series comes to an end, I want to thank you for walking through the season with me, from stories of quiet moments to reflections on family, pets, traditions, and the gentle joys that brighten our days. I have loved writing these posts as much as I hope you’ve enjoyed reading them.

So, no matter how you celebrate the new year,  whether with noise, with nostalgia, or with a sensible bedtime, I wish you warmth, health, humour, and the happy surprises that life still has waiting for you.

Happy New Year to you and your family—may it be bright, kind, and full of joy.