During December, my focus will be on sharing Christmas stories from my own past! I hope you enjoy
Why I Should Hate Christmas
The magic of Christmas for children, let’s be honest, is waiting all night to get up at the break of dawn to open up presents. To wonder if you stayed up late enough to hear the joys of Santa Claus delivering presents. Waiting to see the letter that he wrote or if he ate the cookies left for him, but it always comes down for a child seeing what presents were left for them. Children in the world awaken to annoy their parents. Screaming that it is time to get up to open presents. Being told they had to wait for family, if that was part of the tradition. The children waiting patiently, but maybe not so patiently. Yelling will they hurry up and get their butts to the house. Don’t they know it is Christmas!
I was no different from every other child. I wanted presents. Things that I wanted. Oftentimes, I received very little from my list. I would get attached to presents that were higher ticketed items. For example, an original nintendo system. To this day, I do not really play video games. They have never been personally my thing. I wanted books, often from series that my family didn’t seem to want me to read. I loved Sweet Valley High, The Babysitters Club, and Fear Street more than anything on this planet while I was growing up. These were my happiness. These were my escape. I would ask for them. I would get a few “Fear Street” books every year. I knew they were largely coming from my father, who valued reading. Books are what I wanted, but instead I was getting things that I didn’t want. Things that I would never enjoy. Christmas ended up, during growing up, being a time that I often forced myself to appear happy. That I was excited to get up and open presented. To see what I was getting, but I seldomly was actually overjoyed. The elation always deflated very quickly when I realized it would be another year of not getting what I wanted. Books, lots of books, way too many books for me to read in a year. I wanted some Christmas magic, gosh darn it.
As I left the joys of Christmas behind, as an adult. I should have left Christmas behind entirely. I had so much life happening to me. I was homeless. I never thought I would get anything on Christmas. I always just pushed through the holiday season, often alone. I recall feeling that Christmas had been lost somewhere, which is why one of my favorite Christmas songs will forever be a song from “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas” live-action. I don’t want to say more because it will be appearing this year, as it will probably every single year I do anything Christmas related. While my heart was saddened at Christmas because I didn’t get to often share it with family and when I did, it felt forced. It felt inauthentic. The only person that ever made it feel truly like Christmas was my dad. I could tell every Christmas he cared and that he was my father, which sometimes has been a rarity in my life. I never questioned it during this holiday though. He was there and ready to see what smiles were brought to my face. That is how I remember Christmas. Through all the turmoil that I endured (homelessness and not getting what I wanted) a spark remained. A Christmas spark.
and Why I Don’t
A small spark sustained. There has always been something about Christmas for me. I remember in high school, I was asked if I still believed in Santa. I assume the girl who asked me wanted to get a laugh at my expense. I answered with my truth, I did still believe in Santa. Then I answered even more honestly when people started to chuckle. I said, “I do not believe in a jolly ole fat guy trying to break into my house.” People listened and their chuckles started to die down. “I believe in a certain magic that happens at Christmas time. People bustling around. Often times trying to help each other out. Helping the poor happens more at this time of the year. The lights go up and we see so much beauty in the world. That is Santa to me. The magic of Christmas.” People didn’t chuckle or bring it up again. They got it. That was the spark. An understanding of the potential good of humanity that can be seen at this time of the year. When we, as a society, try to help each other. That is magical to me; that is Christmas. The lights we put up, wanting others to see the beauty of our houses; that is Christmas. Genuinely caring enough to listen to your loved ones and finding that perfect present for them; that is Christmas. These tiny moments we share with each other; will always be Christmas. There are so many memories, of positive events that occurred at Christmas that kept this magical Christmas spark fanning. It has grown in a fire, roaring strongly. I will be sharing 2 of these stories during this month. Very dear to my heart Christmas stories. You may even see a few pictures of items I got at Christmas along with the story attached. These are moments that changed my heart forever. Moments that kept me in merry merriment. Moments that allowed me to still believe in Santa. To still believe in Christmas.