After 15 Years Of Christmas Through FaceTime, I'm Finally Spending The Holidays With My Kids
Last Christmas, I squinted at my phone screen, trying to catch glimpses of my twin sons’ faces as they unwrapped their gifts in the summer heat in Melbourne, Australia. The Wi-Fi froze, leaving their faces fragmented and pixelated — and me frustrated at the long distance separating us. It was the same frustration I had endured for years across two hemispheres: me in San Antonio and them in Melbourne. But this year will be different; after 15 years of virtual celebrations, I’m finally spending Christmas with them.
Divorce wasn’t part of the plan when we started a family, but by the time our twins were 3 years old, we knew we had to part ways. Moving from the family home into a small apartment in Melbourne and becoming a part-time dad took a long time to adjust to, knowing I would miss milestones and nightly bedtime stories. Not being there to watch as they wobbled through their first solo bike ride was harder than I imagined. The subsequent legal battles over finances, child support and access left emotional scars that took years to heal.
In my desperation to spend as much time as possible with my sons throughout the years, I agreed to give up Christmas Day with them. As a Jewish father whose children were raised with both Christian and Jewish traditions, Christmas didn’t hold the same significance for me then. The holidays were their mother’s territory, and getting more time with them across the school year seemed like a fair trade.
I spent that first Christmas without them playing golf with another divorced Jewish friend, naively believing I’d found a new tradition to replace family celebrations. But reality hit hard the following year when my friend found a new partner, leaving me alone on Dec. 25. I entered several years of self-imposed isolation during the holidays. Despite friends’ invitations, I declined them all, knowing that the sight of other families celebrating together would only amplifymy loneliness and regret.
To cope with the void, I started working on Christmas, burying myself in spreadsheets and emails while trying to ignore the festivities happening beyond my office walls. The mundane tasks provided a temporary escape from the holiday I couldn’t fully participate in. Each year, I’d schedule a FaceTime call with my sons and get a rundown on their presents and the food they had eaten. The noise and laughter in the background only added to my misery.
For years, I aimed to get through Christmas, a mix of spreadsheets and solitude. Then, in 2014, everything changed when I met my partner, Cecilia, during a work trip to Texas. Despite our differences — she was 11 years younger and didn’t want children, while I was a divorced dad of twins — we felt an undeniable connection and decided to start a long-distance relationship. Over the months, our love blossomed, and she had moved to Australia by year’s end.
Without holiday family commitments in Australia, we created our own tradition of spending every Christmas in San Antonio with Cecilia’s family. Gradually, I discovered the magic of the holidays through new eyes. Celebrating with Cecilia’s family meant drinking warm eggnog and eating roasted ham on Christmas Eve, drinking margaritas while exploring the festive lights, and watching Christmas movies together. We began new traditions; December, once a month to endure, became my favorite time of year.
The only lowlight was not being able to share this with my sons. Before we left for Texas, we’d give them their presents in early December, and on Christmas morning, we’d call to see their excitement as they opened more gifts. But it wasn’t the same.
I was enjoying Christmas more, but there was still a void. Over the years, I occasionally asked my ex-wife if we could change our agreement, but it stayed in place. I had agreed to something without understanding how deeply it would affect me and how much I would come to cherish the very holiday I had so quickly given away.
This year, the boys turned 18 and becamelegal adults able to make their own decisions. When I asked about spending Christmas in Texas, their response mixed cautious excitement with concern. “We’ve never had a real winter Christmas before,” they said. “But what about Mom?” Though part of me wanted to tell them it was OK to stay with their mom if they felt torn, I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. The thought of another Christmas without them was painful, so I remained quiet and waited for their verdict.
They spent weeks weighing the decision, balancing their desire to experience something new with their father against their commitment to family traditions. I was hopeful yet nervous, Cecilia steeling me for the scenario if they chose to stay in Australia.
Their mother’s response showed remarkable grace. “They’re adults now,” she said to me. “And they can choose where they want to be.” Her support made their decision easier, and they chose to trade seafood for roasted turkey, Santa on a surfboard for Santa on a sleigh, and their usual summer Christmas on the beach for their first truly cold one in San Antonio. Since that decision, I’ve planned every moment of their trip, eager for them to enjoy an American Christmas as much as their Aussie one.
Most importantly, I’m looking forward to the small moments: waking up with them on Christmas morning instead of viewing their faces on a tiny phone screen, checking out Christmas lights along the San Antonio River Walk while drinking hot chocolate, watching Christmas movies with them, and finally giving them real hugs instead of virtual ones.
After 15 years of watching their holiday excitement through a screen, I’ll finally be there to share it in person. It’s the greatest gift I could hope for.
