I am one bad son-of-a-Grinch.
My house has been decorated for the Holidays since before Thanksgiving. I have this giant, fake Christmas tree covered in bubble lights. There is a collection of 15 or so snowmen sitting on my bookshelf. There's even a nice little nativity scene on top of my television.
My house is still the same though; it still feels the same. Dad's modeling stuff and Mom's sewing machine still occupy the dinner table that's never used for dinner. The house still sounds like the Shrieking Shack whenever a gust of wind rolls by. My brother still ignores the fact that our bathroom get's dirty, and I still clean it.
Everything is just the same.
Normally, I like to think of myself as a engaged and enthusiastic person. I am not perfect, no one is, but when it comes to holidays, my heart is about three sizes too small. I just can't excited about holidays. Easter is the worst, but Christmas is a close second.
Santa freaks me out. He's the ultimate stalker who's allowed, by parental consent, to bring gifts and win the love of small children. Those stop-motion Christmas specials are also creepy. Rudolph the Red -Nosed Reindeer for starters: That Island of Misfit toys reminds me of that part of Michael Jackson's Thriller video when all the zombies come out of the ground. Junk toys coming to life to sing about how broken they are? That's terrifying. The island is also ruled by a lion with wings who lives in a castle. He also happens to be in cahoots with Santa. It's all so sketch. I'm talking really sketchy.
And then, Christmas day arrives. I never enjoy Christmas day. (I feel unclean for confessing this.) There's that special kind of disappointment that only comes on December 25th. I've spent 24 days getting hyped about how great Christmas day will be, and I really want to believe it will actually be all that Christmas is supposed to be. You know, good family time, the whole making memories bit.
But it never is. In twenty minutes, all the gifts are open and my family just kind of stares at each other. We'll make a giant breakfast, and I'll eat too much and I'll feel fat. Then, we'll all twiddle our thumbs some more, and then go our separate ways to do something by ourselves. My Mom will go read a book. My Dad will go back to shopping online for random things. My brother will go play whatever video game he just got. I will wander around a bit, wondering if there'll be Christmas quality time. There never is, and I resign to joining my brother with his video games. Before I know it, Christmas is over, and I feel empty and fat at the same time. Happy Birthday, Jesus.
How depressing. I'm mostly kidding about the whole Santa and the Christmas special thing. While they disturb me, it's all in good fun. I'm pretty unhappy about how my Christmas' usually turn out though. My parents will always ask, “Did you have a good Christmas?” I don't have the heart to say no. If I did say no, they'd just ask, “Why not?” And I wouldn't have an answer.
How do you tell someone you want them to show that they love you? By asking, you force a reply that's meaningless because it isn't heartfelt or spontaneous. Christmas is supposed to be special. It's about those heartfelt and spontaneous acts of love. It's supposed to feel special. I shouldn't have to ask for that, should I?
I admit it's partially this son-of-a-Grinch's fault. Whenever those rare moments come when my parent's want to have a deeper conversation about me, with me, I resist. I get defensive, and almost immediately I push back. Maybe it's a teenage reflex, but I think it's deeper than that. My parents don't know I'm gay. There's a part of me they don't understand, and they might it reject if I reveal it. It's not so much the being gay part as it is the rejection that might come from being honest. I'm scared, so I shy away from deeper conversations because I might just show them how scared I am...
Perhaps I don't allow Christmas to be special because I don't wear my heart on my sleeve. I'm a guarded person. I don't want to expose how sensitive I really am. I don't like to expose the fact I'm still struggling to find meaning, and how I want someone to just give it to me. (Hahaha, so I write about it on a somewhat anonymous blog... Funny.) Christmas makes you confront tender emotions, and that's hard!
Ultimately, the only thing that makes this son-of-a-Grinch feel the most festive is the music. Kind of like the old villain himself, I have a soft spot for Christmas music. I sang in the choir when our stake performed The Messiah last week. I couldn't sing the last notes of the Hallelujah Chorus or the last notes of the Amen Chorus, because I felt it. My eyes got misty, and I suddenly felt this warm sensation envelop my body. It was a lovely feeling. For me, Christmas came December 12th this year. The sensation was fleeting; it left as quick as it came, but I'll treasure it. At this point, I'll take all whatever Christmas spirit comes my way.
Last week I watched the Christmas episode of Community, one of my favorite shows. I highly recommend watching it on Hulu when you get the chance. Besides being a hilarious spoof of Christmas specials past, it had a message that resonated with me. The message was simply, “Christmas is what you make it.” I feel like I owe it to myself to give Christmas a try as long as it keeps coming around, so I'll go through the motions. I'll try hard to be inspired by the Christmas story. I'll have fun with friends at the parties. I'll put a little more effort in making Christmas day a special one. It's official: This son-of-a-Grinch has dropped all expectations as to what Christmas will bring.
Come on down, creepy Santa, just don't give me another 3-in-1 flashlight.
