Bah Humbug

Scrooge McDuck

We're now in that time of year that brings out all of my Scrooge tendencies. Our celebration of Christmas is fraught with misconceptions and inaccuracies. The celebrant, Jesus, was most likely not born on December 25th, or even in December. Furthermore, the grand feasts and tree decorations we associate with Christmas are actually hold-overs from the Roman Saturnalia fete, which was celebrated on December 17th, with a Solstice tree. There are several traditions associated with this commercially garish season, which I would just as soon stomp out, if I could. Some of this is viewed through the lens of my dysfunctional family history. How fondly I recall my father having too many drinks and insulting the in-laws. How I cherish the recollections of my undiplomatic oldest brother saying he hated his present and tossing it aside. Christmas appeared to be a time for too much eggnog and a family feud.

My family is unreligious for the most part, and about as far from a Norman Rockwell painting as one can get. We can't seem to fulfill the needed love requirement. The Yuletide season is, above all, a time for normal people to trumpet their family achievements. The family photo must adorn your cards -- a newsletter must sing all its praises. "Janice was just accepted at Harvard". "Larry was promoted to Senior Partner". As if the obnoxious brag letters were not enough, we must shower each other with presents. My brother dubs this "the forced spending of each other's money". One year, when I was hurried and out of sorts, I wanted to just write everyone a check for $50. Money, after all, is the ultimate gift certificate -- you can choose the merchandise AND the store. But Mother, bless her heart, was horrified. I might just as well have been the Grinch. I was barred from doing that. Mother also doesn't want anyone to tell her what to get. She wants to surprise me with some tacky garment that could skip a detour and go straight to Good Will. How I love the gift-giving season. I frequently differ with my brother, but 'forced spending' captures it well. Christmas gifts are great for children and young lovers -- everyone else can probably gauge what they need and when to buy it.

Fal la la la la -- la la la la. The songs even start to grate on you after so many years of sentimental retreads. I don't care if I have a white Christmas -- no snow tires. Wouldn't know a chestnut from a walnut. Sometimes I actually need to do real shopping in December -- but must compete with desperate housewives for a parking space, and listen to "I'll Be Home for Christmas" while looking at picked-over junk. I can be thankful for the Internet -- how did we ever get by without Al Gore's invention? If you love Christmas in all its schmaltzy, insincere gaudiness, you'll have to be patient with me. I like the good food, time off from work and some of the fellowship. I actually like certain aspects of it. So, regardless of your take and these negative slants -- "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas".