My girlfriend Suzanne and my daughter Annie love the holiday season. From the moment the tree goes up, it’s pretty much non-stop for them. We watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas (on a loop, practically) and A Charlie Brown Christmas. Suzanne plays Christmas music endlessly. Annie searches out a new and more spectacularly ugly Christmas sweater. They are both full-on.
I, on the other hand, am known to be a Scrooge. I have a black Santa-style hat with “Bah Humbug” printed on it. I’m known to say that my profession has killed the joy of the holiday, and that I only give it from the twentieth through the twenty-fifth. I’ve reveled in my dislike of the holidays. It fits well with my seasonal depression, my cynicism about my profession, and my atheism. Go ahead and celebrate your purported messiah, I’ll be over here listening to punk rock by myself.
I’ve reveled in my dislike of the holidays. It fits well with my seasonal depression, cynicism about my profession, & atheism. Go ahead and celebrate your purported messiah, I’ll be over here listening to punk rock by myself. Share on XThere have always been chinks in that armor, though. Annie and I have always been tasked with getting the tree, which we’ve frequently done in an old VW Beetle convertible with the top down and the hot cocoa steaming. In a tradition spun from the early years of our relationship when we had no spare cash for holiday festivities, I’ll drive us around looking at holiday lights. Of course, I’ve been Santa to Annie for years, and have occasionally added touches like leaving carrots out for reindeer.
This year, Suzanne was surprised to hear Christmas music emanating from our kitchen while I was cooking. I decorated one of our outside trees with lights. We got an even bigger Christmas tree than usual, though I admit I wasn’t willing to put it in the Mustang. (Apparently some traditions aren’t as strong as the need to keep a nice car… nice.) I’ve also pretty much abandoned the rhetoric about limiting the holiday to five days.
Instead, I’ve focused on the first line of this blog. The women in my life love this holiday, and I want to give them one more reason to enjoy it. Am I celebrating the birth of the purported messiah? Nah? Have I stopped thinking that the Christmas season runs too long because of my profession? Of course not. Have I decided to subsume those beliefs to the enjoyment of my family?
Yep, I sure did, because it’s not all about me.
Happy holidays, folks.