The sacred “Holiday” has lost its way.
Instead of an all out rant, which solves nothing and only
lays the foundation for more all out rants, I choose to reflect on Christmases
Past (no copyright infringement intended Charles Dickens.)
I come from simple folks, hard workers, some were devout
church goers, some not. My family was
mostly in the “not” category. Perhaps
Easter and Christmas but that was about it.
We always had a manger scene set up next to the Christmas tree though,
covering all the bases, so to speak.
We hung the same tree ornaments every year, the classic
50’s and 60’s type, I remember making red and green paper chains to hang on the
tree as my eyes were glued to the black and white TV watching President Kennedy’s
funeral procession. Yes, the “outside”
world was as complicated and as violent as today.
Mom had these window stencils she reused every year. She’d tape them to the windows and sponge “Glass
Wax” or spray artificial snow on them and when the stencils were removed it
seemed like pure magic when the images remained on the glass, Santa, Christmas
ornaments, reindeer, cool stuff like that.
COOKIES! OMG, we’d
bake hundreds of Christmas gingerbread cookies! Decorated with colored
frosting, red hots (HA! Have to have
some age to ya to remember those!), multi-colored sprinkles and the smell alone
was enough to melt the Grinch’s icy heart!
Christmas prepping was forbidden before Thanksgiving. I’m still a staunch believer of this
philosophy. The Christmas candy (which
included some of that awful hard candy crap, UGH) and the traditional wooden
bowl of whole nuts did not arrive until Christmas Eve.
Gifts were simple, mostly practical and much
appreciated.
New flannel PJ’s (homemade of course), a chalkboard, a
brand-spankin’-new box of Crayola Crayons, the classic little red wagon, the
year I was 5 years old I got my 1st bicycle and there was a BB gun
in there somewhere too.
OK, moving on; I get the desire to shower your loved ones
with mountains of gifts. It’s just become
the American Way.
However, in the process we’ve lost our way and abandoned
the simplicity of the Season.
That makes me sad.
So, to answer the title question “Who Needs F$$king
Christmas”, I believe we all do, and please excuse the pun on profanity; it was
only an attention getter.
That’s also the American Way right? Whatever offends the most gets the most
attention. The old saying, “sticks and
stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” seems to be another
life lesson I was taught that is totally false.
Oh well….
Yes, we need Christmas, but most of all, we need EACH
OTHER, regardless of religion, race, political views or social class.
Decorate for Christmas in October, max out your credit
cards on presents but please don’t forget to really be present for each other as you move through the Season.
For those of you who don’t mind a long read, following is a paragraph explaining the motivation for a letter written by my favorite author, John Steinbeck, and following that, the letter's content. It’s a complete reflection of my
observations and thoughts but he says it much better than I.
Lo and behold, this was way back in 1959, the same year I got my 1st bicycle.
In November of 1959 as a shocked American public was hit with the news that a number of their favorite quiz shows had in fact been rigged for some time, author John Steinbeck wrote the following letter to his friend, politician Adlai Stevenson, and spoke of his concern at such a morally bankrupt turn of events occuring in his increasingly gluttonous country.
(Source: America and Americans and Selected Nonfiction)
Dear Adlai,
Back from Camelot, and, reading the papers, not at all sure it was wise. Two first impressions. First, a creeping, all pervading nerve-gas of immorality which starts in the nursery and does not stop before it reaches the highest offices both corporate and governmental. Two, a nervous restlessness, a hunger, a thirst, a yearning for something unknown—perhaps morality. Then there's the violence, cruelty and hypocrisy symptomatic of a people which has too much, and last, the surly ill-temper which only shows up in human when they are frightened.
Adlai, do you remember two kinds of Christmases? There is one kind in a house where there is little and a present represents not only love but sacrifice. The one single package is opened with a kind of slow wonder, almost reverence. Once I gave my youngest boy, who loves all living things, a dwarf, peach-faced parrot for Christmas. He removed the paper and then retreated a little shyly and looked at the little bird for a long time. And finally he said in a whisper, "Now who would have ever thought that I would have a peach-faced parrot?"
Then there is the other kind of Christmas with present piled high, the gifts of guilty parents as bribes because they have nothing else to give. The wrappings are ripped off and the presents thrown down and at the end the child says—"Is that all?" Well, it seems to me that America now is like that second kind of Christmas. Having too many THINGS they spend their hours and money on the couch searching for a soul. A strange species we are. We can stand anything God and nature can throw at us save only plenty. If I wanted to destroy a nation, I would give it too much and would have it on its knees, miserable, greedy and sick. And then I think of our "Daily" in Somerset, who served your lunch. She made a teddy bear with her own hands for our grandchild. Made it out of an old bath towel dyed brown and it is beautiful. She said, "Sometimes when I have a bit of rabbit fur, they come out lovelier." Now there is a present. And that obviously male teddy bear is going to be called for all time MIZ Hicks.
When I left Bruton, I checked out with Officer 'Arris, the lone policeman who kept the peace in five villages, unarmed and on a bicycle. He had been very kind to us and I took him a bottle of Bourbon whiskey. But I felt it necessary to say—"It's a touch of Christmas cheer, officer, and you can't consider it a bribe because I don't want anything and I am going away..." He blushed and said, "Thank you, sir, but there was no need." To which I replied—"If there had been, I would not have brought it."
Mainly, Adlai, I am troubled by the cynical immorality of my country. I do not think it can survive on this basis and unless some kind of catastrophe strikes us, we are lost. But by our very attitudes we are drawing catastrophe to ourselves. What we have beaten in nature, we cannot conquer in ourselves.
Someone has to reinspect our system and that soon. We can't expect to raise our children to be good and honorable men when the city, the state, the government, the corporations all offer higher rewards for chicanery and deceit than probity and truth. On all levels it is rigged, Adlai. Maybe nothing can be done about it, but I am stupid enough and naively hopeful enough to want to try. How about you?
Yours,
John
Back from Camelot, and, reading the papers, not at all sure it was wise. Two first impressions. First, a creeping, all pervading nerve-gas of immorality which starts in the nursery and does not stop before it reaches the highest offices both corporate and governmental. Two, a nervous restlessness, a hunger, a thirst, a yearning for something unknown—perhaps morality. Then there's the violence, cruelty and hypocrisy symptomatic of a people which has too much, and last, the surly ill-temper which only shows up in human when they are frightened.
Adlai, do you remember two kinds of Christmases? There is one kind in a house where there is little and a present represents not only love but sacrifice. The one single package is opened with a kind of slow wonder, almost reverence. Once I gave my youngest boy, who loves all living things, a dwarf, peach-faced parrot for Christmas. He removed the paper and then retreated a little shyly and looked at the little bird for a long time. And finally he said in a whisper, "Now who would have ever thought that I would have a peach-faced parrot?"
Then there is the other kind of Christmas with present piled high, the gifts of guilty parents as bribes because they have nothing else to give. The wrappings are ripped off and the presents thrown down and at the end the child says—"Is that all?" Well, it seems to me that America now is like that second kind of Christmas. Having too many THINGS they spend their hours and money on the couch searching for a soul. A strange species we are. We can stand anything God and nature can throw at us save only plenty. If I wanted to destroy a nation, I would give it too much and would have it on its knees, miserable, greedy and sick. And then I think of our "Daily" in Somerset, who served your lunch. She made a teddy bear with her own hands for our grandchild. Made it out of an old bath towel dyed brown and it is beautiful. She said, "Sometimes when I have a bit of rabbit fur, they come out lovelier." Now there is a present. And that obviously male teddy bear is going to be called for all time MIZ Hicks.
When I left Bruton, I checked out with Officer 'Arris, the lone policeman who kept the peace in five villages, unarmed and on a bicycle. He had been very kind to us and I took him a bottle of Bourbon whiskey. But I felt it necessary to say—"It's a touch of Christmas cheer, officer, and you can't consider it a bribe because I don't want anything and I am going away..." He blushed and said, "Thank you, sir, but there was no need." To which I replied—"If there had been, I would not have brought it."
Mainly, Adlai, I am troubled by the cynical immorality of my country. I do not think it can survive on this basis and unless some kind of catastrophe strikes us, we are lost. But by our very attitudes we are drawing catastrophe to ourselves. What we have beaten in nature, we cannot conquer in ourselves.
Someone has to reinspect our system and that soon. We can't expect to raise our children to be good and honorable men when the city, the state, the government, the corporations all offer higher rewards for chicanery and deceit than probity and truth. On all levels it is rigged, Adlai. Maybe nothing can be done about it, but I am stupid enough and naively hopeful enough to want to try. How about you?
Yours,
John
I
would gladly share my Gingerbread Christmas Cookie and a hot mug of Irish
coffee with Mr. Steinbeck.
God
Bless Us Everyone.
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