The party is over. The end of the season is always a bit of a letdown. I get a little melancholic. It’s time to take down the tree. Off with the lights! The glitter has started to tarnish. Even the fake snow looks tired.

Have you noticed that when the year ends, media goes on a frenzied mode with lists of “the best” and “the worst”? Seers and self-styled fortunetellers come out with outrageous predictions and ominous pronouncements about the future of celebrities.

Old scandals are revived and reviewed on primetime TV, and on the news channels we revisit tragedies and calamities that befell the country in the year that ended. Why does bad news sell? Yes it does, even when it’s old news.

Just for a change, I would love to see a replay of the look of joyful surprise in the face of a woman whose husband unexpectedly returns for Christmas from the frontlines. Now, there’s a moment. Show me the face of a child whose dad shows up at their front door just in time for her birthday, or the smile and tears of a mother whose errant son has decided to come home.

When we lived in the United States, I remember watching “It’s a Wonderful Life” and “Miracle on 34th Street” on Christmas Day. Both movies became part of our traditional celebration. My children sat and loved every minute of it. But of course, they didn’t have electronic gadgets then.

Call me sentimental, but suddenly I feel like hanging on a little longer to Christmas. It has crossed my mind to keep at least one parol. Yes, it will be lit all year round. You think?

‘Nut rage’

News early last month carried a story about an airline executive, in charge of in-flight service and catering for Korean Air Lines, berating a cabin attendant who (horror of horrors) served her macadamia nuts in a bag, not on a plate. She allegedly used abusive language and “aggressive gestures” when she forced the aircraft, which was on the taxiway, to return to the gate and ordered the attendant off the plane, causing an unnecessary delay.

Korean Air Lines immediately apologized to the passengers, and has been duly fined and penalized for the incident.

The international reaction to Heather Cho’s “entitled and inappropriate” behavior caused her to resign as executive vice president of the multibillion-dollar Hanjin Group which owns and runs international shipping lines and logistics companies aside from Korean Air.

The details of the “nut rage” have been widely publicized. A possible 10-year prison sentence may be in the young woman’s future.

But what drew my attention was the statement from Cho Yang-ho, her father and chairman of the conglomerate. It was earlier reported that he had attempted unsuccessfully to have witnesses play down the altercation.

Reuters filed this account: “In an attempt to regain some of the luster the family lost over the past week, the elder Cho stepped in front of a slew of reporters and apologized profusely for his daughter’s behavior. He also announced his daughter’s dismissal from any position within Hanjin Group from which she has not already resigned.

“‘I apologize to the people of (South Korea) as chairman of Korean Air and as a father for the trouble caused by my daughter’s foolish conduct,’ the tycoon said.”

The New York Times also quoted Cho as saying: “Please blame me; it’s my fault. I failed to raise her properly.”

Bowing from the waist in true Korean fashion, the parent took the blame. It is the South Korean way when a child misbehaves, at whatever age apparently.

His eldest daughter and now former executive director has promised she will apologize in person and try to make it up to the offended party.

Instinctive

I ask: What would I have done?

I have often wondered if there should be a cut-off point for parents and their children. Maybe there is one but I haven’t found it. For years I have had this long-running debate with myself. When do we throw in the towel?

Is it instinctive to take the blame? In deep anguish we wonder where we went wrong. Where was this child, now all grown, when we set down the rules? We agonize over our presence (or absence) in their lives, asking “was I there at all?”

We teach our children that lying is unacceptable, that honesty is above everything else. But when they cross the line, we waver. Where was I the first time my child cheated? Maybe I looked away. What did I say?

Like many others, perhaps I said nothing, because it was safer not to speak, and saying nothing hurt no one. But it changed nothing.

In a quandary, I ask my wise old friend for counsel. He says: “Silence is tantamount to tacit approval. It is not a measure of your love.”

But sometimes it’s all we can do.