[DISCLAIMER: post contains serious satire infractions so readers beware!]
Another December is upon us; another year of watching the value of our home drop FAR below what we paid for it just a couple years ago; another year of dreaming to win the lottery and facing the nightmare that is DC traffic; another year of juggling work with a fulltime school schedule and now added to that so many other obligations that forever seem to conspire against me to drain every grain of sand that remains in my hourglass; and another year of watching some dreams disperse into thin air while others vanquish through the darkness of the long, long journey.
This year has afforded many opportunities and blessings in disguise. If you think about it, when was the last time a blessing was not in disguise? We always say that, but what does it really mean? Have blessings nothing else better to do than knock on the door disguised like little demons from around the neighborhood on Halloween?
The Christmas Spirit seems to be hovering just north of the Arctic Ocean this year, because I can guarantee she is nowhere near DC. People are impatient and drive like today is the last day on earth to get to the store and save $5 on some ridiculous sale item. And all these damn holiday songs playing on the radio all sing about the same smurfed up crap: shopping, greed (“what I want for Christmas”), and ultimately being materialistic. Okay, so maybe I like to have a few nice things in life. I am very grateful that I can afford to have the things in life that I may want or need; however, it’s this time of year I’m reminded that others are not and it really saddens me.
Every year Nate and I usually buy gifts for the Toys for Tots program (for the less fortunate kids, much like my brother and me were growing up) and we also donate coats and other winter items that we're not going to use. Helping less fortunate families is a very noble thing to do, but let’s face it: We’re no St. Grace! We do it because secretly deep down we want to earn extra credit with the man upstairs, so that maybe---juuuuuust maybe---he will someday reward our good deeds with the Mega Million Jackpot and we can fly this crazy coup straight the hell out of here.
Our church has a large Christmas tree standing alone in the distance corner of the main atrium; the tree is plain, absent of any decorations except that it has small tags of white paper hanging by string from each branch, much the same way as would an ornament. On each tag is the name of a small child (from the first trimester up to 6 years of age) and gift ideas (toys and clothes).
What Nate doesn’t know is that hanging from one of the tree’s plastic limbs is a tag with my name on it, and the gift ideas included new Kenneth Cole shoes, a Banana Republic gift card, a Best Buy gift card, 14k White Gold ring complimented with large red emerald, and at least $50 worth of scratch-offs from the Virginia Lottery. Anyway as I digress, each gift is recommended to be between $25 and $50; so far we've taken 6 names off the tree and hopefully someone grabbed mine. As adults we can better control what comes our way and how to respond or react to it, but as children they cannot.
I remember growing up and being poor and doing without many times. Imagine for a moment how difficult it was decorating for the holidays given the circumstances: going to the trunk and dragging out all the traditional decorations, fumbling with the ever-entangled lights to hang outside around the home, going into the woods to hack down a tree (suddenly I’m a regular Paul Bunyan), and dragging it back home…Honestly, I don’t think anyone reading this has a clue how difficult it was decorating a 7.5 foot evergreen in the front seat of a car. Yes, living in a car definitely had its advantages and disadvantages. Instead of Santa coming to us, we could just drive over and meet him at somebody's house. It was usually hard to explain why, at 2 in the morning, my brother and I would be caught in our matching Wonder Woman Underoos standing by the fireplace in the middle of some stranger’s living room. It was even harder to explain why mom would be parked out front with the car running, yelling, “C’mon boys, get your presents and let’s go. We gotta get home.”
[*** In all honesty, my mom really struggled and worked hard as a single mother raising two boys. She may have disowned me years ago for being who I am, but I will always love her and thank her for working as hard as she did to raise us to respect others and always be grateful for what we have in life. The truthful rendition of this story was published in my editorial The Faithful Comrade, 8 Dec 2000. ***]
All joking aside, I honestly do believe that it is important to pay it forward to those who are less fortunate. When I was growing up, I remember mom facing the challenge of trying to keep her two boys happy, but we all faced the reality that times were hard. Eight long years ago, I wrote in a holiday issue of the Faithful Comrade and expressed just how hard those times were. Shortly before my brother came back home permanently to live with us, my mom and I lived alone in a 15x75 singlewide mobile home, or as they call it in the Midwest “Death in a Tin Can.”
We went to the local drugstore and picked up a 3-foot Christmas tree, complete with 20 mini-ornaments, and a strand of 10 multicolored miniature lights. As a young kid I cannot tell you how many times I rearranged the elements on the tree trying to get this Charlie Brown-like specimen to look as nice and full as it did at the end of the classic cartoon when all the kids came over to decorate it. Soon after Christmas each year, I learned (or was reminded) that Santa shopped at the Goodwill for my clothes. How do I know, you ask? Well, let’s just say that other kids in school would recognize their old clothes on my back. That was the disadvantage of living in a small town. Another disadvantage: the Goodwill was located on the town’s main street, near the center of the town square and by the only functioning traffic light; naturally the light was always red when I had to go in or come out of the Goodwill. Every time we had to go there, I would leap from light pole to light pole, ducking behind each bush and shrub, trying desperately to sneak in and out of the store as inconspicuously as possible.[Pictured above, my older brother (d. 23 Aug 2007) and my mom, his Birthday - 20 Dec. 1982]
Growing up poor has given me a great appreciation for the abundance of “goodies” I have now in my life. Although I may have been blessed to have a successful adult life, I cannot forget my roots. It’s for that very reason that it breaks my heart to know there are children out there who are growing up in the same conditions as was I. Who knows how their lives will develop? They may get lucky and find a ride out of their small-ass one-horse town, as did I, and begin their ascension from the forgotten and oft neglected shadows of society to the never forgotten and high-taxed life of middle class America. To them, I say welcome to Northern Virginia.
Anyway, that's the bitter old man coming out in me; the point being that Christmas, and even Chanukah, have just become too commercialized. We need to get back to our roots and remember what—or who—is important in our lives. The real Christmas Spirit should not be about giving expensive gifts, as in going out and racking up credit card debt just to buy someone’s affection or confidence in knowing they are valued in your life.
Perhaps the holiday spirit should be more about offering forgiveness over inane infractions, rekindling affronted friendships and making friends anew, cooking, dancing, relaxing, and anything else merrily typical in the Court of King Friday in the far-away Neighborhood of Make-Believe. Find the little red trolley, with its gentle accompanying piano music, and follow it to the center of your dreams where all things are possible…or to the liquor cabinet where, too, all things become possible.
Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, God Bless!
(PS: Comments are always welcome.)
Until next time…
NK
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