As I am pulling out the decorations for yet another year, I had to stop and write a quick post, even though I said I wouldn’t.
Generally, I hate that I am supposed to be full of Christmas joy for four whole damn weeks. How? How can I possibly do that?!??! Each year it gets harder and harder to conjure up the proverbial Christmas spirit. I resent it all. Why is that? It is a puzzle that has gotten me thinking of late.
My best Christmas ever was as a kid when my father had been out of work for a year. No one wanted to employ an angry, crippled polio victim so my mother had been preparing us for the fact that Santa was not going to be coming for us. In fact, we were looking like we were not going to be eating much longer and would soon lose our house.
Then, on Christmas Eve, we arrived home to find a giant cloth bag on our front porch.
In it were the most glorious things!
I remember that we all dug through that bag frantically like wild animals, exclaiming over each new treasure, but the only item that I actually remember specifically was a Barbie. A Barbie in a yellow dress. I had never, ever had a Barbie. Each year I had asked for a Barbie. All of the other girls at school had Barbies, tons of them, and yet each year my pleas had fallen on deaf ears.
Disappointment after disappointment.
Until that one year.
I never got what I asked for any year after that until I was grown and had the means to buy my own gifts, but it didn’t matter because for that one year Santa had come through for me.
Santa was real, after all.
Maybe I have been too self absorbed at Christmas of late? Maybe that is my problem? I am looking at Christmas as if it owes ME something when actually I owe it to Santa to come through for someone else? Soooo….
Here’s to a happier holiday for me, you, and everyone!