Who remembers what they got for Christmas last year? I spent a few minutes this morning trying to remember, but my recollection of whatever was wrapped under the Christmas tree in December of 2010 has faded into the ghosts of Christmas past like a pinch of sugar in a cup of coffee, improving the general flavor but no longer distinguishable as a separate entity.
What I do remember about last Christmas is the reflection of Christmas lights on new fallen snow. I remember being stranded at my dad’s house with all the dogs sequestered in his basement, the failing washing machine jury-rigged with a garden hose draining under the garage door, my dad just home from the hospital and his healthcare worker trapped by the ice with all the rest of us in our tightly packed, snowed in, close encounter Christmas refuge. I remember how full of life and warmth the house was while the snow fell outside. It was one of the best Christmas seasons ever, but for the life of me I can’t remember what was under the tree.
There are a few Christmas gifts that I do remember. I remember my first shotgun when I was about 12 or 13 years old, but that gift is more of an accessory to other holiday memories from that year. I remember that my father got out of bed about 5 AM on Christmas morning and tossed a handful of pebbles onto the tin roof of my grandparents’ house – just about the same time that we heard the reindeer taking off. I remember the voices of my grandparents, singing in the kitchen while they made breakfast and the heat from the pot-bellied stove penetrating thick layers of quilts on that snowy morning. The shotgun gathers dust now in a gun safe, but the memories are as bright as a Christmas ornament.
I do remember a gift given one year. It was the first Christmas after my grandfather died and my mother was struggling to come to terms with the loss. I remember how she cried when she opened one of her gifts, a family photo album with pictures of her father and her life growing up in rural Georgia. I remember how her tears turned to laughter and back again as we looked at the old pictures. I remember the empty seat at the table that year.
Christmas has changed in some ways since I was a child. Our culture has changed with our economy. We borrow. We spend. We consume like no other people in the history of humanity. The forces that tie us together are less our common goals and beliefs and more a popular culture driven by marketing and manipulation. Witness the high speed traffic and the crowds of consumers intent on capturing those great deals to fill the boxes under the tree. Christmas begins now in September and we accept the mandate, the duty, the obligation to shop, almost without question, and if we are unable to spend for the holidays we feel the burden of guilt implied in the flood of images of happy people pushing overflowing shopping carts.
Yet for all the hype, the stress, the intensively researched methods of attaching our wallets to our primal impulses in our quest to fulfill our holiday “obligations,” the memories of what we buy and what we receive will be torn away and cast aside like the brightly colored wrapping paper that covers the sum of all our efforts. In the end, it is the time we spend with those we love that we will remember and cherish. In that spirit, let me wish all of you a very merry Christmas and a joyful holiday season. May the time you spend with your loved ones this year be a brightly lit ornament that you will cherish for many long years.
