 |
 Dear
Santa...
Dear Santa,
I just thought that I'd let you know that I am definitely not enjoying
Christmas. First, let's get this straight. Now that we've done that, there's
something I've got to tell you – I don't think you exist, but since nobody
else will listen to my ravings you will have to do. Doesn't it just grab
you right there to see so many people happy about the season? Well maybe
you don't feel that way. Maybe I'm just plain crotchety because I've been
in bed for the past few days trying to get over the flu. It's really getting
me down. Between family gatherings and the joys of mucous, I'm finding
it very difficult to get myself into the Christmas spirit.
When I was growing up I was told that Christmas was a day of the
year that celebrates all that is good in humanity. Now that I am a little
older and am able to figure things out for myself, I realise that there
are three things wrong with that theory. 1.Christmas is not about celebrating
the good of anything – except for maybe the fact that it's a very good
time of the year to blow your money on things you don't need. 2. There
is no good in humanity to celebrate. 3. Christmas is not a "day of the
year." It is rather an event, very much like a large stock clearance sale,
beginning somewhere in early November and going on into a good part of
January.
It seems as if everything's on sale at Christmas time. Things are
always cheaper towards the end of the year with all those Christmas and
year-end sales. But then again in other parts of the year you don't need
to buy so many things, 'cos everyone who knows you doesn't visit you in
the space of a week, and those who do, don't expect to take something home.
Actually these days, it seems like the only valid excuse for not being
in the Christmas spirit is that you can't afford it. And really, since
it's the thought that counts during this time, the only people who shouldn't
be able to afford it are all those beggars you see just outside the decorated
Christmas shops. But as long as you ignore them, everything's fine.
Like it or not, these days Christmas means having to do loads of
shopping, be it to buy a gift for someone special or to buy a Christmas
card for someone whose name is in your diary but you can't really remember
why. Many shops make more during this season than they do during the rest
of the year. So they all try to outdo each other in order to attract more
customers. They decorate themselves with the traditional banners bearing
Christmas tidings of great joy (SALE!!) and tons of Christmas lights. I'm
not sure how many more customers they are bringing in, but I suspect that
they are enticing pilots enroute from Cape Town to Adelaide to land somewhere
in downtown Bambalapitiya.
The season also means that it is time to give gifts – again. I cringe
at the thought of having to spend a chunk of my budget on buying gifts
for people who will give me stuff that I could never use in return. But
I suppose I have to – all in the Christmas spirit. So to me Christmas means
digging up all those ghosts of Christmases past. I figure why spend money
buying gifts, when I already have a whole treasure trove of stuff that
is perfect for gift giving (hey, someone gave them to me) just lying around
doing nothing? Anyway, giving those monstrosities away brings me at least
untold satisfaction.
Can you imagine what Christmas would be like in the future? I suppose
it would be more sophisticated and commercialised. Although some might
argue that it would be virtually impossible to make it a lot more commercialised,
I feel that increased sophistication would make things a little bit easier
for people. I'm glad about that for one reason at least. Hopefully that
would mean that natural Christmas trees around the world would be replaced
by plastic ones. I'm not being sarcastic here. I'm all for plastic trees.
Why? Because it means that a good tree somewhere won't be cut down to adorn
a living room for a week and then be thrown away. Besides, plastic trees
would last for literally hundreds of years so the cost won't recur every
year. At the ridiculously high prices they are currently being sold at,
I think people should jump at the chance. Look at the alternative – at
the current prices, in a few years a majority of people won't be able to
afford much more than a "Pol attha."
So you see Santa, I've had a lousy Christmas. Cynicism has got the
better of me and the flu isn't helping. I suppose the only thing that could
possibly restore my faith in Christmas is a Ferrari. You could park it
out front. I strongly advise against any chimney tactics because as a matter
of principle that would mean that I would have to shoot you.
Regards,
Kenny.
A reason for the season
It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas
tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through
the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.
It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas.... oh, not the
true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it: overspending....
the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry
and the dusting powder for Grandma - the gifts given in desperation because
you couldn't think of anything else.
Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts,
sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike.
The inspiration came in an unusual way.
Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level
at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non
league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church, mostly black.
These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed
to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast
to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling
shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was
wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect
a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not
afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And
as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters
with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.
Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them
could have won," he said ."They have a lot of potential, but losing like
this could take the heart right out of them."
Mike loved kids - all kids - and he knew them, having coached little
league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present
came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought
an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes ad sent them anonymously
to the inner city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the
tree, the note inside telling Mike what I have done and that this was his
gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year
and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition one
year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game,
another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned
to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.
The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the
last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their
new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the
envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.
As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents,
but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't end there.
You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas
rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree
up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in
the morning, it was joined by three more.
Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope
on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand
even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed
anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope. Mike's spirit,
like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.
May we all remember Each Other, and their interpretation of the reason
for the season.
More Mirror Magazine
Mirror Magazine Archive
Front Page| News/Comment|
Editorial/Opinion|
Business|
Plus
|Sports
|
