Wet Wood

So there I was in bed last night, a skinny white boxer to my right, a bag of almonds to my left, scanning through the various TV shows. All was well. 

The first commercial I saw however, left me grumbling like an old man dissatisfied with his lunch. “A countdown to Christmas,” the cable channel announced. My finger quickly hit the mute button. Even without sound, it was obvious the channel was planning on inundating its viewers with holiday shows from now until Christmas.

As is natural, Christmas in no way holds the fascination and excitement it did when I was a child. Many of my Grinch-like feelings arrived when I (and my ex), owned a FedEx delivery business. Nothing highlights how overtly commercial Christmas is like the cracking of the FedEx whip during peak delivery season. And nothing takes the fun out of Christmas faster than angry Grandparents demanding their grandchild’s skateboard wheels get delivered regardless of the blinding snowstorm that may be in full swing and of course, there's the numerous tow truck bills that arrive - one after the other. That chapter of my life however, is behind me. And I couldn’t be happier. And yet, as I try to rekindle the specialness of Christmas, is seems I'm working with wet wood.

I’ve noticed, sadly, that the larger retail stores have already started their holiday season. Instead of sitting in the back warehouse, old Christmas merchandise now sits on the aisles right next to the Halloween clearance items.

I realize everyone in the retail business is hoping to cash in big during the holidays. In many ways, my small delivery business relied upon the money earned during the holidays to finance countless business expenses that I wouldn’t have been able to fund otherwise. But now, removed from FedEx, I just wish the season would return to something closer resembling its origin: Christmas trees drug into the home on Christmas eve, simple homemade gifts, loved one’s gathered, foods made with loving hands. Instead, we will be bombarded with: made for TV movies depicting the countless miracles of Christmas (that rarely ever happen to you or me), cheap toys, overpriced tech gadgets, and a Christmas that, in all reality, resembles every other day of the year.

I’m not saying there can’t be gifts, but let’s make them elaborate only in the thoughtfulness that went into making them or buying them. And I’m not saying there shouldn’t be holiday movies and TV shows, but let’s celebrate them for how unique they are, and how rarely they are made available. 

Christmas will never be, for me, like it was when I was a small child. In fact, the only time I feel that “night before” excitement, is when I know I will be writing, uninterrupted, the entire next day. I do, however, like watching the excitement on my children’s faces when they are about to open their gifts. But, unlike when they were small, I’m now given very detailed lists of things to buy.

I’ve never cared for the theory of Santa Clause either. I have always felt this well meaning fib caused more harm than good. I feel for the child that, with pencil in hand, scratches down onto paper their wish list, just to discover Santa wasn’t able to deliver any of those expensive gifts. Or, the parent who goes into debt in fear of letting down the child who has asked for grander toys than they can afford. To a child, there is no price tag attached to the toys Santa brings, the elves make the toys, so there’s no reason, why they too can’t have the latest, greatest toy even though their clothes are worn, and they’re house is cold.

None of the above would happen if the true meaning of Christmas were celebrated. More focus would be spent on the miracle of love and fellowship. I feel, we all could benefit from that gift.

Sane