When I was a young, not-so-malcontent, I viewed the holiday season and particularly holiday decorations with a sense of wonderment and jubilation. Perhaps it was all the brightly lit houses, perhaps it was the anticipation of Christmas morning and the excitement of opening presents; for all I know it was Christmas break from school. Perhaps the elation was a result of something I couldn’t and still can’t grasp. Whatever the cause of all this yuletide joy, it was truly one of the happiest times of the year. Everything about the season was awesome as a kid. Building snowmen, hot chocolate, days filled with hours of sledding and snowball fights….it was a great time to be a kid.
As the years progressed the magic faded as with most of the innocence of youth, this in itself is nothing but what I can surmise to be just a regular part of growing up and life as a whole on the grand scale. With that loss of innocence however came something that I noticed to be something of a burden, something I didn’t count on. I began to feel some type of indescribable remorse and the beginning of what I later realized was spite. I chalk the remorse up the recognition of a childhood clearly at an end, which I believe to be not only completely excusable but possibly one of the biggest contributing factors of heavy alcohol consumption around the holiday season. The spite, on the other hand, is something that I’m not so sure is as easily excusable. Not to say that my spite should be excused but rather endured.
It’s safe to say that my spite is not directed towards Christmas itself, but to the idea of what the holiday represents. Now I’m not talking about whatever religion you feel conveniently fit enough to tie unto the branches of your tree (or menorah) but rather the commercial monolith that tends to blind a vast majority of the populace. This spite is, of course, valid every other day out of the year but it tends to be accentuated this time of year by everything down to the campy little holiday jingle everywhere I go. Please don’t think I’m a “scrooge” when I talk about this subject…far from it.
My yuletide spite starts the day after Halloween when people start putting up the Christmas decorations, completely bypassing perhaps the second most important holiday we have as Americans in Thanksgiving. I personally contribute this to the fact that Thanksgiving is not a commercial holiday….at least not for department stores. We need to validate our holiday experiences by spending tons of money on crap that only enables us to hide any remaining visage of true holiday spirit behind masks and nutcrackers and obese Santa’s. I can understand getting into the holiday spirit by going through the monotonous routine of “decking the halls,” but c’mon…what it really boils down to is being better than your neighbor. There’s no need to put up Christmas decorations in October save maybe the desire to be the first one on the block. This competition carries over to my other, and perhaps the biggest point: shopping.
Shopping is the reason for the season. Fuck everything else; I need that “Tickle-Me-Elmo!” Evidence of this can be found right at the gates of hell itself…Walmart. Walmart is open non-stop 376 days out of the year save for a few hours before the busiest shopping day of the year, Black Friday. This is to prepare for the onslaught destined to tear nearly every Walmart from its foundations consistently every year. This super chain is just like any other store around this time of year, filled with people that need to show appreciation by blindly throwing wads of cash in exchange for physical tokens of affection and appreciation. We as a country have attached a dollar sign to how much and to what varying degree we care about the different people in our lives. People literally die every holiday season from getting trampled to death or exhaustion or whatever the case. Seriously people?! Will you really kill someone and take away some family’s joy for not only the Christmas season, but for the rest of their lives over a piece of plastic? This goes beyond the absurd to a level yet to be discovered by the human race.
Now as a mid-20’s malcontent I reflect upon all of this as the days go by and specifically right now. Those presents didn’t mean a damn thing after I grew tired of them. I can’t even remember a lot of the presents I received. Don’t get me wrong, there were presents that I’ll remember for the rest of my life, but I realize now that it wasn’t the gift itself but rather the sheer exuberance I felt when I realized that my Santa parents got me exactly what I wanted most….the exuberance of being loved by those that were and are closest to my heart.
This is what I think of when I get pissed that I have to put up with Christmas bullshit for a quarter of the year. Take down your fucking ornaments. If that gift is really that important, get it in July; stop gang banging the retail outlets until very little life remains in any party witness to your hording.
Love each other.
