"A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together"- Garrison Keillor.
I love Christmas time, I always have, and I don't know why. I was raised an atheist, yet my family celebrated Christmas every year, in true consumer/pagan fashion. About the most religious aspect of our traditions was listening to Amy Grant's "The Night Before Christmas." There were of course no midnight church pews or contemplations on the birth of baby Jesus for us. So, needless to say, the religious aspect of Christmas was not what got me.
As a little atheist, I was often asked why my family celebrated Christmas and why I cared about it so much. I sometimes wanted to rage at them in turn with responses such as, "now that you mention it, why do you celebrate Christmas? It comes from a pagan holiday you know." But, I tended to bite my lip and contemplate the question, however unwarranted, at hand.
I know what you're thinking: it was the presents. Well, there is of course some truth to that and is not to be written off as pure evil materialism. There is something endlessly enticing to a child (who is not yet able to decide what he/she can possess and who is not spoiled on a regular basis) about having some mysterious thing all beautifully wrapped up under the tree. In the realm of presents, the anticipation was the best part.
But, I will say now, as I said then, it was never just the presents. After all, the Christmas of my childhood involved traditions aside from presents. And there's the key word: tradition. So much seemed reliable at this time of year- my family, which is by no means extensive or wide-reaching, always came together, Christmas morning was always spent around the tree at an earlier hour than any of us were otherwise conscious, fantastically good food was to be had, a new movie to be seen all together, Bing Crosby tunes playing. And so, now I remember Christmas in this way and I've edited out all the bad stuff. It doesn't hurt that it sometimes snowed where I grew up.
As everyone recognizes in the ominous and oft-repeated chant of George R.R. Martin's Game of Thrones, "winter is coming," winter more often than not represents death. And, indeed, at this time of year, we can see death all around us- the bare trees, the withered plants, the frost-bitten ground. It is the recognition of this correlation that drives many cultures, both present and past, to continuously enact traditions during this dark, cold, and uncertain time of the year. Saturnalia, the Ancient Roman celebration upon which some Christmas traditions are, at least in part, based, was originally developed as a means of raising morale. Similarly, St. Lucia's Day is a celebration intended as an overt reminder of the immanent return of warmth and sunlight. Basically, winter is a time, in all of its cold uncertainty, when we need reminders of our humanity and of warmth. And traditions help us to do just that by being so reliably the same, year after year; and with their consistency, they feed into that horribly erroneous sense that our lives can go on forever. But, that illusion is easily shattered whenever an aspect of the tradition changes, as they inevitably do.
My father died this year and that means this is the first Christmas season that my brother and I will not set aside a day sometime around the 25th to get together with him, exchange presents, have some drinks, and watch movies. The absence of my father during this time of year is just another reminder to me of the fragility of this whole affair of Christmas and holidays and everything else that is deceptively consistent for awhile- it's a reminder of course of the fragility of life in general.
Before you start to think that I'm on my way to Scrooge status, I should tell you about what originally inspired me to write about Christmas today: my small-ish fake (even though it tries to obscure this fact with bark rod that runs up the center, it is still apparent as a result of the glue globs that hold the branches on) Christmas tree in my little living room. With donations from my mother, I stylishly decorated it with lights and red and silver ornaments. As I sat on the couch the other night to admire my work, a strange emotion overcame me. It wasn't quite nostalgia, but that was part of it: I felt what I feel every year looking at the Christmas tree. But, this year, it's my tree. I was not only still able to experience the traditions of my childhood, but I was reassured that I would be able to continue them and begin to make my own as well. And in this way, traditions are resilient- we are able to take them with us even as we lose loved ones. Because even as we do lose those whom we first made the traditions with, we are able to share them with the new loved ones who come into our lives and with the people from our childhood who we are lucky enough to still have with us.
I realize that this blog became a sentimental one and completely sidesteps many important issues that could be discussed regarding Christmas. I also realize that I'm not being politically correct by only spotlighting Christmas. And for that, I apologize. But, not really because one has to write what she knows. Oh, and to the Jehovah's Witnesses…yeeah, I got nothin'.
Happy Holidays,
Leena
