No Grinch Around Here
To many of you who have followed me through the years, I come across as a contrarian at best, a curmudgeon or beyond at worst. During games that I comment on through Twitter, my notification box is filled often filled with images of Debby Downer, or far more negatively creative. Obviously, I wouldn’t see myself quite that way, but I will say that my nickname for myself is “The Happy Cynic”.
But wherever the reality might lie for most of the days of the year, during the holiday season I am a pure soft touch, a Pollyanna, a cockeyed optimist, and more. I am pure and simply a sucker for Christmas.
About the only negative thing I can say about the whole time is that we as a nation have expanded out the season to ridiculous lengths. Basically, once the pumpkins and ghouls are packed away after Halloween, it’s full on Christmas. We have virtually trampled over Thanksgiving in order to sell more stuff.
But I can even overlook that, or lightly chuckle rather than groan at the insulting to all but a few, commercials that show people delightfully giving and receiving brand new luxury cars as gifts. I will even give a pass to the lady who responds to starting up her new vehicle, by questioning her loving, rich, and generous husband as to why there are 900 miles on the new toy.
That’s because everything about Christmas makes me smile. I like shopping at crowded stores. I get a kick out of looking for silly knick-knacks for stocking stuffers. I blissfully ignore suggestions of responsibility and limits on gift giving. I love Christmas carols (well, most), most especially the standard ones. I can look back and chuckle at the disgust of my early teen daughters groaning all the way from Lawrence to Kansas City about having to have Christmas music exclusively on the car radio on Christmas Day.
My first vivid Christmas memory was a scary one. At five years old, sent to bed with the usual instructions to get to sleep, and the warning that seeing Santa would result in the loss of all Christmas gifts, I thought that I woke up in the middle of the night and caught a glimpse of the man with the red suit and white beard. “Oh, no!!...I’m doomed”. I turned over and tried desperately to go back to sleep. But this nightmare seemed to go on forever, until I really opened my eyes in the morning to realize all was well, and my new sled was not in peril.
I am the oldest of six children, so I actually got to the point where I wanted to sleep in a bit, when my younger siblings couldn’t even wait until daybreak to rouse my parents. Having that unbridled enthusiasm around me made the disturbing transition to not believing in Santa a little less daunting.
But the adult me enjoys Christmas even more than the youthful one. I can’t really put a finger on it. Perhaps my relentlessly logical nature needs a break to embrace even the silliest trappings of the season. As my previous blog indicated, one of those silly things is my annual joy at viewing “Mister Magoo’s Christmas Carol”. In general, I am far pickier about my Christmas entertainments, but not in that case.
I was a daily runner for a long, long time. When I ran, I never wore headphones or ear buds, I just let my thoughts wander. But every Christmas morning, when I ran that day, the only songs that would run through my head were Christmas songs. I consider this phenomenon a true indication of my unabashed joy at all things yuletide. Even the most religious tunes strike my fancy, even though I am miles away from devout.
The small town of Milford, Massachusetts once could have been left without their Christmas carols for about an hour one year. At my first professional radio stop after college, WMRC in Milford, I took up the opportunity for double overtime by working the Christmas overnight shift, changing the hour-long reels on a 11P to 7A stint. I would have to head to my parent’s house twenty miles away about eight o’clock, so I decided I would get my run in beforehand…as in during the shift. Just after four A.M., having started up the next hour of tunes, I headed out the door to put in my seven plus miles.
I actually could have in this case used a Walkman to listen for signs of trouble, but I trusted that the holiday spirit would prevent the tape from snagging or snapping, and went on my way, listening to my own Christmas carols in my head. There was no Grinch-like moment, the tape performed admirably and I was back just before five to keep things rolling.
Throughout the years, I have been at many massive Christmas gatherings. I have a huge extended family, and those were very nice. But now living 1,500 miles away, I seldom get home at that time of year. I very much enjoy a quieter gathering of six or eight, a personal time with my daughters, my wife, and a few others.
Most everyone says that they love giving Christmas presents more than getting them, to the point of cliché, and I do agree with that. But in keeping with my all-encompassing Christmas joy, I have to confess to really enjoy getting gifts as well. For the last few years, I have had the fun of being the person who organizes and hands out the gifts. I love it.
I know that for some, Christmas can be a trying time of year. Perhaps love ones have been lost, perhaps the self-induced pressure of the gift-giving causes pressure and stress. Maybe the long lines and snarled parking lots at the store get to you. Perhaps the overt commercialism of the season is off-putting.
It’s easy for me to say that you should set those things aside, but I will say it. People truly do understand if you can’t afford the best gift, most people do have at least a dollop of holiday spirit to get you through the trips to the mall. People will open their arms and their homes if you are alone during the season. Heck, the holidays also give you upwards of a month to have something to talk about with strangers besides the weather.
We never have really had a Christmas lighting display outside, but last year my wife channeled the inner me, and her out-sized love of dogs, and purchased two illuminated canines that now stand proud in our front garden. They are a good replica of our Corgi, and our loveable mutt. I can stand next to our beautiful tree in the living room in the evening and see them guarding our home and investing it with even more holiday spirit.
As if we need it. The home has me in it, as enthusiastic about the holiday as Ebenezer Scrooge after his fateful night. It’s almost Christmas, but we will leave the tree up for quite a while to extend the feeling, and then have that wistful letdown as I pack it away for another year.
It’s all almost enough for me to enjoy an eggnog. Or not. That is about the only thing to make me say “Bah Humbug”. Because, hell, I even like fruitcake.
Now that’s holiday spirit.