A Confession for December

When I was a child I loved this time of year. I could recite the Night Before Christmas. I had tons of books about Christmas (and one about Hanukkah) and I would watch every Christmas Special. I would diligently study toy catalogues. And, I think, out of all of my school mates, I was the last to give up on Santa.

The day after Thanksgiving we made a big deal about decorating and putting up a tree (and an electric Menorah). I loved to decorate this miniature tree that I had for my bedroom and I had a tiny plastic Nativity Scene that came from the dollar store. I liked to look at the little plastic figures all snuggled together in that tiny wooden manger. That was about as close to religion as I got.
My family did not attend church, and we didn't talk about God unless someone died. My Mom explained to me that she had her own religious ideas but, she didn't want to impose them on me. She wanted me to be open to all beliefs and to find my own truth. I was told that Christmas was the day that baby Jesus was born. Someone even gave me a nativity pop-up book. And, I remember going to Church with my Grammy and Granddad one year for Christmas. I felt very out of place.
 I didn't see what any of it had to do with Christmas. Christmas was about family, decorations, parties, and presents. Anything religious was just too weird. When I was a little older my Mom got a real nativity set. It sat in the same spot under the tree every year but, it sort of got lost beneath all of the presents. 

After, Christmas was over, we would leave up our decorations until the Greek Orthodox Church celebrated Christmas. My Mom said it was out of respect for a couple of friends of ours who were Greek Orthodox. Then Christmas would go back into its box and get packed into the basement. And out would come the Valentine's Day decorations. 

As I got older, my fondness for Christmas seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer each year.  My Mom started drinking. So, my Dad hated Christmas. Because, let me just say Alcoholism + Holidays = Disaster. I worked retail for quite a few Christmases. When I worked at Linen's and Things the Christmas music came on at the end of October. I grew tired of the decorations. They all seemed tacky and riddled with glitter, that I then, had to sweep up off the floor every night. The last place I worked had Christmas Decorations coming in, in July. The whole store changed in November. People became rude. The aisles were a mess to clean up. And the hours got longer. I started to equate Christmas with greed, impatience, selfishness, mass consumerism, physical exhaustion and I got burnt out. I just started to get disgusted with the whole thing.  

 I hate Christmas. 

I honestly don't want to. I really tried to fight it. But, there it is. I. Hate. Christmas. 

I'm grown up now. I have a daughter of my own and, for her, at least,  I want to love Christmas again. I want to share my beliefs with her.  I know that means finding a balance between the secular and the sacred. Something with a little substance and a lot less glitter. And, I just know, the solution has something to do with that little dollar store nativity set. The truth behind that little plastic woman and her tiny pink baby.