I don’t have to tell you that Christmas isn’t the same as it used to be. For example, nowadays urging someone to “don our gay apparel” would not necessarily be construed as a yuletide exultation. It might have more to do with high heels than high spirits, and it could get pretty confusing at the old office party.
Jolly Old Saint Nicholas Rocks as a Gift Giver.
And you can forget about the 12 days of Christmas. With Christmas shopping officially launched on Black Friday, we’re talking a good 30 days of Christmas in ye olde contemporary times. Let’s see: “…29 halfbacks running, 30 nuns a nunning and a partridge in a pear tree.” As for those 12 days, as stated in the Christmas carol, it would appear there was a great affinity for birds in those days, what with the partridge and assorted swans, geese, turtle doves, calling birds and French hens. I might be able to put up with a parakeet as a present, but no way am I going to be cleaning up after such a fowl menagerie, true love or not. Having a troupe of leaping lords might be tolerated for a few days. After all it is a gift, but I draw the line at a dozen drummers drumming, even if for only one day.
Many Christmas carols and songs place a great reliance on snow. For some reason we all want snow falling on Christmas Eve and into Christmas morning. Then, of course, we want it gone—am-scray— with highways and biways magically clear of slippery obstruction so we can all get back home for the bowl games. We all fall under the spell of dreaming for a white Christmas, but beware of what you wish for with bold demands like “Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…” That would lead to the obvious response from your nearest Triple A garage: Let us tow, let us tow, let us tow…
I’ll be candid here and tell you that, as much as I enjoy Christmas, I am not a big fan of all the songs of the season. Those 12 days of Christmas do tend to go on a bit long. Furthermore, I will confess that the Little Drummer Boy gets on my nerves. It’s depressing and way too repetitive with it all of its pa rum pum pum pums. And why would a percussionist— an underaged one at that— be showing up at the manger scene? I suppose it would be a lot quieter than 12 drummers drumming, but you’d be hard pressed to hear yourself think, let alone the cattle lowing.
I’m not even sure what a wassail is, let alone wassailing, but I’m a fan of Good King Wenceslas and the example he sets at being charitable to the poor and unfortunate. We may only assume that he had to raise the taxes on the rest of the citizenry to afford this generosity. They, in turn, would have likely rebelled behind a no-tax movement and suggested instead that the government should not be in the business of ensuring the public welfare. But, hark, said Harold, the singing angel, this is Christmas and we must not forget the good king’s true message: “Therefore, Christian men, be sure/ wealth and rank possessing,/ Ye who now will bless the poor/ shall yourselves find blessing.”
Ah, but I suppose I have been jaded by our modern politics, even as I give voice to these songs of the season. We know the true Christmas carols tend to be about the birth of Jesus in humble surroundings, but this night in Bethlehem brought us our most joyful holiday and the tradition of buying lots of cool stuff for each other. We somehow rationalized this with the gold, frankincense and myrrh—the so-called gifts of the Magi who were able to find the Bethlehem address with an ancient predecessor of Garmin, a moving star. By the way, I’m seeing nothing there for a little child to play with. As for the myrrh, a bitter perfume symbolic of doom, I’m thinking that’s not a real fun thing to keep in the nursery.
So we got the gifts, and a bunch of good songs to sing, but we really needed Santa Claus to make this thing work and to bring untold bounty to the merchants who are the lifeblood of the economy. The holy and the secular seem to reside side by side during the Christmas season because they both have come to signify the spirit of giving. With this our children have come to learn a valuable lesson about how important it is for their parents and grandparents to give. All too soon, with the passing of childhood, they, too, will learn about giving.
“Jolly Old Saint Nicholas” set the tone for the long lists of gift requests that some might see as the antithesis of giving. The old song, which goes back a good hundred years, has the children asking Santa for skates, story books and dolls, which were apparently the hot toys of the time. Upon closer examination of the song’s lyrics, I noted a compelling stanza that had faded from my memory: “As for me, my little brain isn’t very bright./ Choose for me, old Santa Claus, what you think is right.”
My kids, who are adults themselves now, didn’t get everything they wanted in Christmases past. Most kids don’t. But I never once heard one say, “Just get me what you think is right.”
Merry Christmas and may you and yours recognize the gifts that are truly right.
