Right now, Christmas feels more like a reason to pull the blinds than light up a tree. With news of GM closing 4 plants in North America, a teenager snapchatting himself cooking a rat on the grill of a restaurant he works at, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8pLqiPvg90E), and Trump approving the use of tear gas on children and families at the southern US border, the world doesn’t feel Christmas-y to me. Until a day or so ago, I thought I might just go through the motions of Christmas for appearances: spike some eggnog, decorate the dog, warm up my credit card, slip grandpa some full strength beer and wear a dress that sparkles and dares me to bend over and keep my dignity.  But then, like a homemade ornament on a designer tree, Christmas jumped out at me - I got that warm fuzzy feeling I look for every year.

“I can’t wait for Christmas.  I don’t even care about the presents.  I’m just really looking forward to spending time with family.  I can’t explain it.” -Kirby Sloan

What the fire-truck?  That came out of the mouth of one of my teenage boys! This was a completely unprompted statement uttered during a routine drive to basketball practice. I can’t lie - I was surprised. As much as we have always tried to create wholesome Christmas traditions that would live on in  “What I Did For The Holidays” school journal infamy, I know we have often been a few marshmallows short of a good cup of cocoa.  Our tree tends to lean toward the commercial and clumsy rather than the virtuous and heartwarming - the family nog is two parts Griswold, one part Walton.  

But now...now I’m thinking perhaps our failings have not been as devastating to the children’s character as I once thought.  My son is emerging from the smolder of Christmases past an indestructible phoenix!

Our missteps during the holidays range from the very common, like ordering toys online from ETSY then sitting empty-handed like boobs on Christmas morning when the items from the nice man in Philadelphia, with the collection of rare Troll Dolls and the pictures to prove it, never arrive, to yelling at the children on Christmas morning, then trying to butter toast loud enough to drown out the sounds of muffled crying coming from their bedrooms. I feel hot shame wash over me all over again. Our behaviour that morning is not something you will see in a Hallmark movie, that’s for sure.  But then again white people in small towns fighting to save the Christmas tree farm from bankruptcy, while rekindling a high school relationship, rarely do anything but bake perfect cookies and stroll the local Christmas market where more mostly white people in Paddington Bear style coats pretend to buy armfuls of handcrafted ornaments made by remarkably handy and good-looking retirees.  Awwww Hallmark.

One of my favourite family traditions, that still lives on today, but has morphed from child-friendly to borderline inappropriate, is our December must-see Christmas list of movies.  When the kids were younger, it was all about “The Polar Express”, “Arthur Christmas”, and “Blizzard”. All very PG, magical, and brimming with holiday spirit. The nastiest we ever got was with “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas”.  It only made us feel sad or uncomfortable for a hot minute until Cindy Lou Who appears and lights up the screen with her starched pigtails and can-do attitude.  Sigh. Smile. Pass the chocolate.

As years went on though, “Home Alone” (1 and 2) made the list and soon phrases like “I wouldn’t let you sleep in my room if you were growing on my ass” and “How about we slap him in the face with a paint can”  were echoing through our cozy little living room.  Eating shortbread and watching an 8 year old defend himself against a home invasion was the first step...a slippery step, to hearing “Yippe Ky-yay motherf@!&?!…” in “Die Hard”.  Thank you Bruce Willis for that sweet note that now reminds my children of snowy December family movie nights.  Just because the acts of terrorism occur at a Christmas party is no reason to call this one a holiday movie but oh well. Thank goodness two of my three kids are too old for school journals and have not had to ask their teacher how to spell motherf@!&?!.  If A Letter Kenny Christmas: The Three Wise Men makes it into our rotation though, I’ll call child services myself.

The decline in the quality of our movie watching is only partly why I am relieved to see my son turning out so well despite us.  The lies we have told over the years - oh the lies! Please tell me everyone has told their children that Santa has a partnership with Walmart and that any toys that are missing pieces or damaged can be exchanged at the store for new ones and that all the returned goods go back to the North Pole for the elves to melt down and make into snow tires or new toys?  Right? That’s standard I’m sure. I’m going to actually relieve myself of any wrongdoing there. Oh - The Lego Store is in on that deal too.

Admittedly, this one’s a doozy..

Son:  “Where’s the ornament I made in Ms. Hobb’s class?”

Me: “The one with all the glitter?  The glitter that keeps falling off and getting everywhere?  The glitter that blinded the dog, started a fire in the vacuum and fused with the skin on my cheeks making me look like Data from Star Trek for months?  That one? It’s there. It’s just on a branch high up.”

Son: “Oh.  Good. I love that one.”

Me: “Mmmmmhmmmmm” (with one hand burying it in tissue paper behind my back in the bottom of the storage container.)

There is also my intermittent, never-to-be-counted on baking.  I had a good run for a number of years: my chocolate peanut butter balls, (not as good as grandma’s), jam cookies, and Toblerone shortbread were always stacked in festive tins ready for visitors.  Let’s just say it’s been a while since I’ve done that. There are just so many bakeries in the city. So many. It’s too easy.

Like the baking, on the list of things we ‘use to do’ is the fun neighborhood Christmas party.  The kids had their own party space, with games, a craft, snacks, movies, and usually a visit from Santa.  Parents were able to commiserate, eat, and partake in adult beverages with a soundtrack of family-friendly Christmas songs in the background.  This tradition ended however the year the grown-ups got a little too ‘festive’ and a white chair was decorated with red wine while two dad’s traded pants in the living room.  Now, instead, we meet with a few neighborhood families at a pool hall for games and wings. I think there are decorations there? The napkins are definitely red. And if anyone trades pants in public, well, I let the police handle it.

And the yelling. That was a terrible morning. Anyone with kids knows the fear of disappointing your children, especially on Christmas.  It happened when one of the boys said “Is that it? That’s not very much.” after opening all his presents. The sadness of seeing our child disappointed quickly turned to anger and blame and words like spoiled, ungrateful, and selfish were thrown around like frisbees on a busy beach, hitting a human target with every toss.  We shop, we plan, we scheme, we wrap, we hide and we came up short? I don’t think so! But the problem was ours, not theirs.  Someone had created an expectation, and it had to have been us. And the reaction was also ours. Instead of meaningful conversation, we blew on the fire of our already short, sleep-deprived fuse and let it burn.  If I could take that morning back, I would.

Subsequent years have been filled with iphones, ipads, cameras and other brand name packages making it under the tree (guilt?) and yet, we still try to preach restraint and philanthropy.  Not to mention we have been known to hit boxing day sales like a pack of hyenas on an injured lion. Mixed messages are our specialty but somehow … I still have a boy who is on the precipice of adulthood and remains happy to see Christmas roll around again - and for all the right reasons.  How? We have taken our best shot at the fabric of our family traditions with more than a BB gun and still no holes, some fraying, but no holes.

It’s clear to me now that while I was looking at the behind-the-scenes mess, he only saw the show; the family, the food, the intention.  While I was analyzing the big picture, he had a flashlight on the moments; the lying on the floor together playing with the dog, filling the garbage bag with wrapping paper (for recycling - duh) together, the spoon licking, candle lighting and post-film spicy discussions - together.

“The Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before! What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!”. Dr. Seuss

And just like that, my son understood

It’s not just the car

It’s what’s under the hood

It’s more than the shine that makes something good

So share time together, who cares what you buy

Let cookies crumble

And turkey be dry

All the kids want, is to know that you tried

(Me)

Happy (or unhappy) holidays everyone! xxxxx

By Carol Sloan

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