It’s Christmas morning.
For as long as I’ve been alive, this morning has had a magic for me. As a kid, I was just like any other kid, eagerly anticipating the dawn of this particular morning, believing in Santa early on, then not caring as I grew older, so long as those presents kept appearing under the tree.
It was Christmas morning where I was exposed as a fraud, or a con-boy. I was the youngest child, so all my older siblings, eight, ten, and twelve years older than me, gave me money to buy Christmas gifts for the family. The only condition was that I not say anything, a condition I had no problem with, given how I was collecting cash from them all.
I proceeded in a business-like fashion, finding the cheapest of gifts, purchasing them, and pocketing the difference. Hai Karate cologne for my brother Jeff. Curlers for my sister Karen, who happened to have curly hair. Janice got a scarf. I can’t remember what I got my parents but a lightbulb wouldn’t be out of the question. One for each. It’s not like I’m gonna make my mom and dad share a lightbulb.
Then I sunk my hard-earned profits into myself, buying several books from the Hardy Boys series, which, in retrospect was probably a sound self-investment. But it was a self-investment rooted in graft, in chicanery, and in the nastiness of childhood fraud schemes.
Christmas morning came and everyone marvelled in their cologne, curlers, scarves and lightbulbs. You could see my brothers and sisters doing the math, wondering how I managed what I did with the amount they gave me. Probably feeling good for their generosity, knowing they were the ones that funded young Steven’s Christmas largesse. Until Janice, my younger sister, let it slip to the others that she was the one who bankrolled my gift-buying spree, something that caught my sister Karen off guard because she was pretty sure she was the one behind it all. Conferring with my brother, they confirmed that all three of them had been taken to the cleaners by their seven year-old brother. Cute little Steven. Steven Roy Aloysius Punk Jones Sweet they used to call me. Replaced now with Steven The Shyster.
It’s still like this today. Not the opportunistic fraud, but the feeling. I’m now the adult, but have adults for children. I’ve been through the magic of childhood Christmas through those years as my kids grew up to be the people I’m most proud of in the world. My wife was awesome, and made Christmas absolutely special for them, like she did every other day. So I got to experience the day from that wonderful perspective as well.
Fabulous memories furnished by fabulous people.
I never really lost that thing they called Christmas Spirit, and continued to believe in such a thing as Santa Clause, mostly as a tangible idea representing something uniquely special, both in the calendar year and in our history and personal experience. For me, the Christmas season will always retain that magic.
It’s not like that for everyone.
Everything that’s frail in the human condition can be exacerbated by Christmas. Behind the lights and the tinsel and the carols can lurk things like loneliness, hurt, regret, even bitterness. And nostalgia, plenty of nostalgia, that most bittersweet of feelings.
We talk about peace on Earth and goodwill to others, yet bombs still fall, people starving continue to starve, people fearful continue to fear. It’s obvious that Christmas can never solve that, at least by itself.
The excitement of Christmas can even make things more difficult. Alcoholics can find this time of year absolutely brutal, both for themselves and for any family and/or friends who have to experience that with them. Bringing together disparate family members can make Christmas dinner, or Christmas get-togethers, political events within the family, sometimes even ticking time bombs, and that’s as sad as it is real.
Notice how most people seem to brighten-up as we get closer to the day, something I feel even in myself. Where, for a period of time, we feel comfortable enough to step out of ourselves to wish others goodwill, and feel good for doing it. And then the day comes, and we’re alone, or disappointed for some reason, and all that optimism and good cheer comes crashing down. And we chastise ourselves for allowing it to happen to us, again. And again.
It’s one of those things really, where an entire season built around the concepts of happiness, joy, and goodwill can actually lead to depression, even bitterness.
Pretty brutal Christmas Day message there, Steve.
I don’t know how to fix all of that, and have nothing of real value to offer towards any solution.
But I do know this.
Every time you wished someone the best for the holiday season, you meant it. And every time someone wished you the best, they meant it too. It makes them happy as it does you for doing so.
That, to me, is the essential human reality. That we are all good people, every single one of us, and it’s only the challenges of life that has made us reserved, careful, and cautious with one another.
You’ve been hurt by people and circumstances, and perhaps you’ve hurt others that very same way in your turn. You are, essentially, the product of everyone and everything you’ve ever experienced. And you are the product of every decision you’ve ever made.
The first part of that is on them and those. The second part is on you.
Each and every one us is responsible for that magic that Christmas is, and every one of us can bring our best, most generous and kind aspects with us when we go anywhere during the Holiday Season. Or any other part of the year for that matter.
What we need to be aware of is that, despite our differences, we’re essentially the same. I’m not suggesting that we simply overlook the frailties of others as we’d want them to overlook ours. What I’m saying is that we are, all of us, basically good, and essentially caring. And if we bring those elements with us wherever we go in this world, we can understand that different people carry different burdens. That not a single one of us ever set out to have those challenges, those things that weigh us down. Nobody ever really chooses to be entrenched in their demons, bound by them. Prisoners of them.
I think what I’m trying to say is that, at a time like Christmas, we get a chance to view ourselves in a more honest light, free of those problems that hold us down throughout the year. We get a snapshot of who we can be, and better yet, who we really are if we’d just let ourselves. To be generous with others, tolerant of differences, generous in spirit, generous in understanding. There are no bad people, but there are people who have experienced badness, and it’s likely darkened them.
Christmas is for them too. Santa would want it that way. And so too would Jesus if Christmas, and the Christian story, is the thing you happen to be celebrating. If it’s not, it’s important to understand and recognize that all faiths, all beliefs, and all deities think and teach this way.
People are people. At our core, we believe in the same things. That when we get to the essence of being human, we find goodness there. We may have different terms, and different ways of observance, but those aren’t differentiators that should separate us.
If you’re reading this, you have my very best wishes, not just for now, but for always. I do wish you peace, happiness, and good cheer, because you deserve it, and I don’t care who you are.
Sannu to my friend in Nigeria, whoever you are.
Ti o dara ju Lopo Lopo si o ati ebi re.
NEWSMAGRENFREW 