My Christmas Story
And, I’m sticking to it.
Aren’t we forgetting the true meaning of Christmas? You know, the birth of Santa.
~ Bart Simpson
Everything is 50% off — and so am I.
Christmas has never been something I wanted to celebrate. My dad was a drunk and I attended Catholic school.
There were stressors in my childhood home. Financial insecurity, family violence, mixed messages, chaos, insanity, and secrets … to name a few.
At school, I faced mean nuns who hated children, mixed messages, chaos, insanity, and plenty of … secrets.
I was born a skeptic and never bought into the Christmas myth. The plot of the story didn’t seem plausible. A teenage virgin gave birth to the Son of God in a stable? Wise men showed up with expensive gifts? (Is “wise men" a metaphor for something?)
The Book was written by Old White Guys. (OWGs)
Yeah, I’m not going to believe anything OWGs said or wrote.
That did not stop me from reenacting the entire religious pageant with my own children. They were participants in the Sunday school performance. My girls were the cutest Virgin Marys ever.
I shopped for gifts with money I didn’t have. Just as my mother did. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy giving my children Christmas, I did. It felt like a scramble to pull “it” off.
As a family, we drove into the forest, trudged through waist deep snow, chose a wind blown specimen, chopped it down, and hauled it back to town. Our own version of “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.”
When my son was in the fourth grade he attended a sleepover at a friend‘s house. The kid’s mom took on the task of explaining to my son that there was no such thing as Santa, and it was a “shame he still believed in such nonsense.”
“You are a liar,” he screamed when I picked him up the next morning.
“Santa is the spirit of giving, and we are all Santa when we express love by giving gifts during the holidays,” I explained.
“That’s such bullshit!”
I allowed him time to process. Like three and a half decades.
He refused to believe a word I said from that day forward.
I was furious and I wanted to blame the kid’s mom for interfering. Clearly there were other issues involved with my son’s dramatic reaction to the revelation that Santa was an illusion. Growing up sucks.
As time went on, and financial prosperity set in, I became Martha Stewart on steroids. I cooked extravagant holiday meals for groups of friends, opened bottles of wine, and decorated our home with a vengeance.
Twenty plus windows glowed with electric candles, wreaths, and giant red bows. I made a doorway decoration from a hundred ornaments of various sizes and colors. It took a couple of weeks to unpack the twenty-six boxes of Christmas clutter. The gift wrap matched the “Country Christmas” theme.
I left it all behind. I haven’t had a Christmas tree in nearly twenty years.
When I lived on Maui, there were years I spent Christmas alone. On the beach, on a stand up paddleboard, on a trail, in nature.
A couple of years, I slept through most of the holiday break. Exhausted from teaching 8th grade special education students in paradise.
Some years my daughters made the trip to Maui. It was not their favorite place to be. They lectured me on unsustainability, overdevelopment, and lack of planning for the future of the island in a world of climate change.
“I know. It’s sad. Can’t we just enjoy the beach?” I asked.
We hiked Haleakala, traveled to Hana, participated in reef cleanups, and whale watched. One Christmas Eve, my youngest daughter and I planted eighty Hala trees on the protected land of the Hawaiian Land Trust.
Currently, holiday shopping is limited. My daughters and I have established guidelines. Gifts should be locally produced, or experiential.
This year, my daughter gave me a whiskey tasting from the local distillery. Women and Their Whiskey, included a semi-famous local bartender who demonstrated how to create award winning cocktails.
I’m not sure what that gift says about my parenting, but I do know what it says about my gift giving. Del Bac Mesquite Malt Whiskey is a go to favorite for my son-in-laws.
Another staple is Monsoon Chocolate. Locally produced, sustainably procured chocolate provides a delicious array of gifting ideas. Christmas is a perfect opportunity to buy a $16.00 candy bar.
This year, I went to Holiday Lights at a sculpture garden decked out in thousands of lights, free hot chocolate and cookies, with local musicians performing various genres throughout the park.
A friend gave me a poinsettia plant.
I don’t need to buy into the religious reason for the season, or the e- commerce shopping frenzy.
This time of the year is an opportunity to support local artisans, small businesses, create tacky art projects, and show appreciation for meaningful relationships and people who matter.
I plan to be with my sister, her daughters, granddaughters, and my elderly mother.
I will take chocolate from Madagascar and local spirits with me.
I relearned an important lesson during the pandemic — never turn down an invitation for time with family. There might not be four generations seated at the holiday table next year.
Getting on a plane is not an attractive option for me at this juncture. Disruptive passengers and unpredictable weather conditions make I-25 seem a saner, safer bet.
I’m 100% on — to discover my own holiday spirit.
Happy Birthday Santa.
Happy Holidays Bart Simpson.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone.
