Christmas is a’cumin’

Skip that Turkey day and move right into the Capitalist Consumption Fury. How are you gonna carry that big screen TV or all those Black Friday bargains when you be stuffed like a turkey? You done gotta prepare.

You can look in the closets and the attic but there ain’t enough paper and ribbon to wrap a rubber band, so get cracking and stock up on that worthless thin terribly design pattered paper to wrap all your Amazon boxes. Don’t forget the personal cards that no one will read and when the paper starts flying will get lost in the pile of trash so you can’t send a ‘Thank You’ card to Aunt Sally because you have no idea which gift was hers.

Besides you didn’t send her anything so next year she might forget about you and write you out of her will.

Get yards and yards of ribbon to make a paper box look pretty and enough tape to wrap the Eiffel Tower three times over. This year, be adventurous and us duck tape. Break out the bloody Mary’s and watch as the kids struggle to open their Santa’s gifts without a sharp object. Teeth tearing is recommended but not required. See how innovative your children can be after another round and a room full of laughter.

You’ve already made your list and are searching the Internet for the best value or availability before 30 days, foregoing the snow and backed up traffic and out-of-stock items, but that is all part of the adventure.

Think back to your childhood when you believed a big fat white haired guy in a red suit would land on your roof with a bunch of stinky flying caribou to deliver you whatever you desired for a glass of milk and a cookie. It was worth saying your prayers and being good in the hope of getting the latest most popular treasure as it appeared on television.

Christmas shopping at my house was my mother taking me downtown to Miller and Rhoades and Thalhimers to pick up some funky perfume for my grandmother, some shaving cream for my dad, while she sneaked me into getting fitted for a suit (hey mister, watch where you are putting your hands. You with the TSA?); while she looked at the hats. A club sandwich and back on the bus; done for the day.

Christmas eve all the lights were up and the tree was covered in tinsel and my brother and I were sent to our rooms (normal procedure) as all the boxes and candy filled stockings were arranged while we slept with sugar plums in our dreams.  

Before dawn, I’d awake and start to panic. We’d wake my parents wanting to go downstairs and see if the fat man had arrived and eaten his cookie. My blurry eyed parents who had probably been hitting the eggnog all night kept us at bay with the yellow tape at the top of the stairs.

My father would slowly venture down to make sure the big man had gone and no reindeer poop was left to be picked up before the consumption crescendo happened. He’d come back from his scouting mission and our anticipation just heightened.

With the sunrise came the opening of the gates as in any race to get downstairs and dig into the loot.

Rather than a random free-for-all tearing of paper with joyful glee, my parents sat us in corners while we gazed at the piles of colored boxes hoping our name was on one. Since my brother was the eldest son, he was instructed to dig through the cacophony of family wishes; one for mother, one for father, one for brother and one for me.

We’d stretch out the morning opening one-by-one, little gifts showing our joy of receiving something we really didn’t want but the rules were set.

After all the gifts were open and all the paper and ribbons thrown away, we settled into a holiday. If family was coming over, we’d tidy things up and the silver platters would come out with the abundance of the day. If not family visitations were scheduled; I was free to visit my other friends to see what booty they raked in.

Somewhat later I realized getting wasn’t the point. Giving was what it was all about.

My question to you is… “Do you remember those childhood Christmas presents?”

Christmas presents are a good sign of what your parents wanted for you.

Our presents are seeds passed out to show affection.

As I reflect I got lots of socks. Pens were always a cheap and abundant gift. Watches seemed a timely gift. A few shirts my mom had stuffed away with that suit stuffed in the really big box.

It mattered how much our folks had to spend on us rug rats for the holiday of showing their appreciation of taking care of us through all these years. Some Christmas was scarce to cardboard tanks that would melt in the rain or card table tablecloth forts. Other Christmas was a car for my brother and I got a toy baby doll.

The season of shopping is always fun (if you got the funds) to surprise your loved ones with gifts they will cherish. That is the sensation of the holidays, even without the fairy tales of Rudolf or Elves.

When I think back to opening a box to find a bottle of Ole Spice aftershave, I’d express joy and wonder only to be searching for the next box, as panning for gold only to find an electric razor or a tie clip.

At the end of the day, the cards were lined up on the mantle piece and the prizes were arranged under the tree for all passersby to witness.

This year there will be a new Christmas tradition.

Stay tuned.