I Suck At Christmas

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I try. I really do, but I never feel like I’m enjoying holidays as much as I should. The sense of disappointment probably comes from all the Christmas specials I watched where everything ended with a communal laugh. Even Charlie Brown found some spiritual fulfillment.

I’d wake up Christmas mornings hoping Santa really wasn’t real. If he was he never even bothered to leave a lump of coal much less Star Wars action figures in gift wrapping. Growing up Jewish leaves scars beyond the circumcision. We’re about as good at Christmas as vegans are at Thanksgiving,

Now I’ve got a little one. I’ll try to save her the alienation awaiting her and embrace the pagan aspects of Christmas. We’ll leave out all the baby Jesus, Virgin Mary, three wise men stuff, but I figure there’s no harm in cutting down a tree and placing it in our living room. Not that I went all out and did that this year, but I did buy a wreath. I tried to find a way to hang it from our door, but the door is solid metal. I’m not as handy as I should be, so I finally settled on placing it on the knob of the door we never use. It smells nice every time I come home, but I shouldn’t have placed it in the direct sunlight. A week before Christmas it’s already dried out.

I’m not sure how I feel about the whole Santa Claus thing. I’m fine with pretending he breaks into our house in the middle of the night, it’s more the shopping mall varieties that scare me. With the news that all these youth coaches and boy scout leaders are child predators, what are we to think of the guy who volunteers to have kids sit on his lap all day? I hope at least they do background checks on these deviants.

Like I said, I suck at Christmas.

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