This is a strange time for me.
In a couple of weeks, I’ll be in bliss, spending time with family and friends and relaxing while bathed in Christmas joy.
But right now I feel like an old man with sand in my shorts. I hated watching people have to rush from the Thanksgiving table to work at a retail store that opened at 5 p.m. that day.
I hate that Christmas decorations come out of the box after the last piece of candy has been given out on Halloween. I hate that I’m about to be barraged with Christmas specials from everyone and their mother.
Does the world really need to see “The Kardashian Family Christmas?”
By the time I’m eating the fifth of the seven fish dishes my family serves on Christmas Eve, I’ll be tired of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,” sick of “Baby it’s Cold Outside,” up to my eyeballs with “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” and out of my gourd with “Little Drummer Boy.”
It is almost like radio stations rush to get the Christmas songs on just so they can lay off half their staff and put it on the prerecorded tape loop from the middle of November until the New Year. Good tidings of joy? Tell that to the disc jockeys who are sitting at home listening to Nat King Cole for the 20th time that day.
Before we get to unwrap presents, it is almost like we have to serve a penance. You want a stocking? Not until you memorize the latest jingle from the department store. Don’t worry, you’ll get a chance every commercial break to work on it.
It almost makes getting a lump of coal sound pretty good. Heck, as the years go by, I don’t even look forward to my gifts. I look forward to everyone else getting theirs. It doesn’t matter that we are right about at that time each year where we are going to hear that Christmas sales are down, as if the retail industry plants a story with each news station. It doesn’t matter that networks have made decorating the house with Christmas lights a new Xtreme sport or that cooking channels have made baking cookies into a heated competition. I’m just happy to see the glee on the kids’ faces as they come down the stairs on Christmas morning.
I’m sure some killjoy is going to complain that I’m being too specific about Christmas instead of generalizing this time to be “The Holiday Season,” but I can tell him exactly where to put that Festivus pole. You know what I’d like for Christmas? To not be annoyed from the time my turkey digests until the eggnog hits my throat.
Looks like I’ll never get what I want.
You can reach Scott at firstname.lastname@example.org to give to The Human Fund.