When I was a small child, something about Christmas unnerved me.
Last year I wrote a short story called Memories of Christmas Past about a woman who didn't like Christmas. It was cathartic.
When I had small children , I tried to hide my feelings about everyone else's favorite holiday.
(Mine has always been Easter, but that is a story for another day.) We had a tree in the living room, went to late service on Christmas Eve and helped Santa with his chores while he was in the house.
The day after, I took the tree and all the decorations down and replaced them with New Year's paraphernalia.
Now I have grandchildren, and since we go there for Christmas, I don't put up a tree. I do wrap a string of lights around the mimosa tree in the front yard so no one refers to me as the grouchy lady down the street.
To the people I interact with on a regular basis, I send a card.
For years I have wondered why am I so weird about Christmas? Since it was not an acquired dislike, I have to think something happened when I was a child that traumatized me during the Season.
Maybe it was Santa. He was at the grocery store, church, the mall, on TV, standing on a corner ringing a bell and a dozen other places all at the same time.
How could that be? His hair was long, short, curly and straight. He was fat, portly, skinny, smelled wonderful or rank, yet people tried to tell me he was one guy who was going to come down my chimney on Christmas Eve and leave me presents. Really?
I might have been a weird child, or something as simple as that. But I am better now so I would like to wish you and yours a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, or Festivus, or whatever you celebrate.
I send you the love, and light and hope for peace and prosperity for all.
No comments:
Post a Comment