by hilzoy
What would Bill O'Reilly make of me, I wonder? I love Christmas. I just love it. Partly this is because I have a very Christmas-y family, and we always had very Christmas-y Christmases. We made gingerbread cookies to hang on the tree; we made all sorts of decorations; we went carolling (except for my Mom, who is tone-deaf. The rest of us, however, all know all the verses of an alarming number of Christmas carols, as a result of carolling.) Every year, my Dad, who is really wonderful at reading things aloud, read part of A Christmas Carol. (Note to people with kids: I highly recommend this. Not only is it a great story, but there are lots of occasions when it's really handy to have large chunks of it memorized. To pick one example: just think of how many times one stares at an apparently endless mess of things one has let slide, things that must be attended to right now: at such moments, I find, saying to myself, in a dismal, gloomy over-the-top voice, "These are the chains I forged in life!" is truly the only possible response.)
Moreover, no doubt thanks to something my parents did right, it was never the stressful occasion I gather it is for other people. Christmas was always partly about the fun of getting presents, of course (we were kids, after all), but the real fun was trying to figure out what to get for everyone else: ideally, something it had never occurred to them to want, but which was absolutely, totally right. And yet this never became a burden or anything; it was just fun to try to find something great. (My Dad was a particular challenge: he always claimed only to want tennis balls. And he was telling the truth. It was a glorious day when I figured out a system for finding good presents for Dad: think of all the day-to-day items it had never occurred to him to replace -- dressing gown, wallet, etc., all of them ancient and full of holes, since my Dad is, to put it mildly, not the sort of person who bothers about that stuff -- and replace them.)
And getting together is always great. I really like everyone in my family, and (more luck!) I like my siblings' spouses too. We don't spend time pushing one another's buttons: we don't have buttons, for one thing, and if we did, the rest of us wouldn't spend time pushing them. And now that I have nephews, there's the further fun of trying to make Christmas as fun for them as it was for us.
There's just one thing: Christmas was not, for us, a religious holiday. This wasn't just because we weren't religious; it wasn't until I converted to Christianity that I realized that Christmas was a religious holiday for anyone. I mean: I knew that Christmas had to do with Jesus, but I'm not sure it had really occurred to me, as a kid, that Jesus had anything to do with religion. I had a book of Bible stories, but then I also had books about Greek and Norse myths, Grimm's fairy tales, and the like. I don't think I drew distinctions between them. Why did we celebrate a story about Jesus, but none about Zeus or Rumplestiltskin? It never occurred to me to ask, any more than I wondered why the Easter Bunny and groundhogs had their own holidays, but horses and raccoons did not.
So: we didn't celebrate generic 'holidays'; we celebrated Christmas. Moreover, we did it right: generosity and warmth and celebration, not greed and neurosis and stress. (Or at least: no more greed than is inherent in being a kid thinking about stockings.) But religion had no part in it at all.
-- I'm feeling sleepy today: the normal sleep deficit induced by being woken up at what is, for me, an incredibly early hour, several days running, by my delightful nephews piling onto the bed. So: how was your Christmas?
Recent Comments