Special Ingredients: Christmas Wishes

It’s my guess that a lot of you think I’m about to write an article that pokes fun at the little foibles of Christmas, whether it be about the evil corporate commercialization of the holiday and its emphasis on greed, the questionable happenings of the original Christmas cast in Bethlehem over two thousand years back, or good old Santa and his sick child fetish (yes, C and I did write articles about that last year, but we could still go on about it). I could also write about how this is the one year anniversary of Pocky Box (happy birthday to us! I want cake) and completely ignore the Christmas thing. I could completely turn the warm fuzziness of Christmas upside-down with some sadistic banter, which would be admittedly entertaining.

Maybe next year. For now, I’m going to write about how great this day is.

As I write these words, I’m about to head out to Christmas Eve church service, which I do every year with enthusiasm. I know it may be surprising to my regulars that I would look forward to going to church, and honestly I usually don’t three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year, but tonight is special. I’ll touch on that later. First, I’ll recall the days leading up to Christmas.

December has always been one of my favorite months since I was little. Those days leading up to Christmas were always the longest. During my elementary school years, I would pass the days by making construction paper chain link calendars (the purpose, of course, was to remove one link for each day closer to Christmas), or use some other calendar-like device designed to take my mind off the fact that the days were so damn long.

As I got older, I discovered the joys of actually giving gifts. Before long, I joined the herd of holiday shoppers, pawing though crowded stores filled with raging mobs, trying to find the perfect holiday gift. In elementary school, this problem was somewhat alleviated by the Santa Shop, an event hosted by the school that allowed students to shop for cheap, useless trinkets to buy for their friends and family. Frankly, I would prefer if I could go back to that.

No, seriously, the crowds don’t bother me. I find that I actually like the frantic pace of the malls and stores. It reminds of the festiveness of the season, a time where everyone has a mission to give to others, even if it isn’t necessarily sincere or necessary. It reminds me that there’s some good left in people, even if their desire to give is somewhat fueled by companies out to make money. If people didn’t want to make the effort, though, they wouldn’t, and I think that says something.

Honestly, I think the other reason I like the hustle and bustle of the holiday season is because I live in Oregon, Ohio, where we sometimes get hustle or bustle, but not both. It’s a change of pace.

In addition to my status of gift receiver being altered to giver (though receiving still has a strong presence), time has since become a non-factor. I’m still recovering from Christmas last year, and suddenly I find myself on the night before another one. Seriously. I had a lot of arbitrary plans for the holiday season, and suddenly people want me to make sense of them because they claim it’s the actual holiday season now.

Of course, I’m always sad when Christmas is over, but lately, I’ve realized that there seems to be a pattern. After three hundred and sixty-five days or so, Christmas suddenly appears again. I haven’t tested this thesis for long, but I have a solid hope that this becomes scientific fact someday.

In any event, Christmas Eve has always been one of the highlights. When I was younger, the entire family would get together at my grandmother’s house for holiday cheer. These get-togethers stand as some of the warmest memories of my life, an intangible experience that remains forever in my memories of childhood. Unfortunately, ten years ago to this day, my grandmother experienced her last Christmas Eve, as she died, in painful irony, the following Mother’s Day. We’ve never been together like that since.

The church, however, has always been there. For years, I’ve been attending the late night service, literally bringing in Christmas day in God’s house. To describe it is impossible. The mammoth Christmas tree, the final rendition of “Oh, Holy Night,” the overall solem yet warm mood, it all has to be experienced first hand.

Then we go home, relax for a bit, and then hit the sack. I’m sure Santa, with his advanced espionage equipment, has gotten pretty annoyed waiting for me to go to bed, but I feel like I have to savor the experience before the big day, even if it comes too soon these days. Before long, I fall asleep.

The big morning has taken on different ceremonies over the years. I used to get up early like most kids, rip open my presents, and proceed to get bored with them. These days, the present-opening doesn’t commence until after noon. In previous years, I’ve taken to walking in the park before hand, though not so much lately. I manage to annoy my mother with my patience.

For the record, yes, I’m twenty-three, and yes, I still get heaps of presents. Part of this is because I’m an only child, part of it is because I always give my mother a lot in return, but most of it is I haven’t grown up. And I’ll make no excuses about my love for opening presents. It’s the best. Even after the entertainment value of the gift exhausts itself, the opening of the gift manages to keep on making me smile.

I still enjoy giving, though. It’s sort of like a puzzle, a challenge to see if I’ve selected the right gift. I’m usually pretty good at it for my girlfriend, friends, pets, and my dad, but Mom always seems to be stubborn about it. You can’t please everyone.

Later in the day, my dad comes over, and we continue the celebration. By sheer fortune, his birthday is on Christmas, so we can get both celebrations out of the way. It saves time doing all of that shopping and wrapping at once. Plus, he gets to muscle in on Jesus’s birthday, much like we at Pocky Box get to do. Fun.

Over the last few year, I’ve included my girlfriend in the festivities, making them all the better. Unfortunately, last year she was forced to stay home with the flu, and this year, she was whisked off to Texas to visit fake relatives. Christy, if you’re reading this, I miss you and hope you have a merry Christmas. Without me. Bah.

I’m going to open presents.

Christmas is really a controversial time. Some people find it un-PC to use the term “Christmas” so openly. Others criticize that it’s become too commercial. Others still insist it’s not even the day Jesus was born. For now, I say go suck a snowball. Leave the holiday for what it is: a time for joy, love, togetherness, and, need we not forget, presents. For me, it goes beyond any of that. It’s simply special.

Christmas is different for everyone. Sometimes it’s a very joyous occasion, and sometimes it’s sad. I wish everyone a very sincere merry Christmas and ask that you be thankful for what you have, not just over Christmas, but all of the time. I know this isn’t going to happen, but it was a nice thought. You should make an effort to extend a helping hand to those who don’t have it so well off. Again, this should be a year-round thing, but let’s take small steps on this one.

As for me, I spent some time at my grandmother’s grave tonight, making a flower arrangement out of what I had on hand, finishing it off by setting down a copy of a prayer book that she liked.

Merry Christmas to everyone!

Dedicated to Hulda Baden, 1910-1996.