Hip to be Humbug
When did despising Christmas become cool? This year, everyone seems to believe that it’s hip to be humbug, and even hipper to make certain everyone else is too.
Don't dare get your jolly on OR...
You'll be scolded for being politically incorrect and culturally unenlightened for celebrating Christmas without also giving equal credence to Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, the Solstice, Boxing Day, and National Bouillabaisse Day which is for the record Dec. 14.
You'll be called a rabid capitalist who is perpetuating Republican greed by participating in the barbaric act of giving and receiving gifts and…GASP… enjoying it.
You'll be deemed environmentally irresponsible for chopping down innocent firs, using rolls and rolls of paper to wrap the above mentioned pernicious presents, and wasting electricity by draping your home in lights…which, if you ask the hardcore haters, are just deadly house fires waiting to happen.
Come on, people, I just want a season where the world can be a loud, loving, twinkling, music-filled, sugar sprinkled, sappy, happy place for a while.
Do I believe an individual named Jesus was born? Sure. Do I believe sleep-deprived shepherds thought they witnessed angels herald the birth? Indeed. Do I believe three men of superior intelligence followed a star to see what lay beneath? Why not? Do I believe it happened on December 25? According to all historical research and meteorological evidence, the answer is no. But does that matter? Isn’t it as good a day as any to embrace the essence of the event, which in a nutshell, is hope and the possibility of miracles?
I feel the same about Santa. No, it doesn’t make any logical sense that a fat fellow with a penchant for outrageous fashion—from what animal does one even get red fur?—flies through the air with his reindeer entourage, drops down chimneys into the flames, and succeeds in delivering toys to all the good girls and boys in the world in one night. But, I want to believe it, and think every child should be encouraged to believe it until at least the age of seventy. In this most jaded of times, when kids start feeling the societal pressure to grow up and be svelte, sexy, and successful before they can even tie their own shoes, we all need a big dose of wonder and magic, and not only in December…which is why I will be ranting about the Easter Bunny come April.
So, in closing, you can shove your Grinch and clench, because I’m making merry, bitches. I will watch “Elf,” and “Love Actually,” and “A Christmas Carol” starring Patrick Stuart, and I will weep with joy. I will eat sugar cookies slathered with potentially-toxic red and green icing that taste like crap and I will wash them down with 80 proof eggnog. I will put up the gaudiest tree you’ve ever seen. I will sing carols at the top of my lungs and off-key. And, if I see you on the street, I will proclaim, “Merry Christmas” whether the masses like it or not.