Unwrapping the Meaning of the Season

Holiday traditions are funny things, especially ones that inspire the sentiment, “But, that’s how we’ve always done it!” From rituals and routines to rules and rigamarole, some traditions are sacrosanct while others are in desperate need of an update. After all, simply because we “used to do” something doesn't always mean it’s a good idea. If it were, we’d still be lighting candles on Christmas trees. I mean who doesn’t relax in front of a highly flammable dried-out tree donning multiple open flames? 

Thank goodness we’ve moved on from some traditions. In the 1970s, tinsel stopped being manufactured with lead. Most of us no longer mail cards to literally everyone we know including everyone we don’t really know. “You get a card! You get a card! You get a card!” And we don’t tell ghost stories anymore on Christmas Eve like Victorian times. Although isn’t it scary we inform little children an old bearded man will enter their house in the dark of night? 

Good riddance to the holiday tradition of fruitcake. Johnny Carson famously said there’s only one fruitcake in the world - it just keeps getting passed around.  Bygone folklore said sleeping on Christmas Eve with a fruitcake under one’s pillow foretold one’s true love. And by fruitcake, I don’t mean my eccentric boyfriend I had in my 20s. 

Many traditions faded away, like the Feast of the Ass (now, that could refer to my old boyfriend). It was a medieval Christian feast celebrating donkey-related Bible stories. Talk about good times! Don’t we all have a good ass story to tell? 

Some traditions just morphed into newer ones. Sadly, wassailing became Christmas caroling. Alas, no more door to door drinking and singing. Apparently groups of rowdy people ruined all the fun when in days of yore their wassailing included demands for food and drink. “We won’t go until we get some!” And when they didn’t, curses and vandalism followed. What happened to “good tidings we bring?”

All of this brings me to my own reckoning in how I always celebrated the holiday. Shopping. My particular tradition was buying gifts. The more the better. It was a habit I never questioned, even when stacks of wrapped presents obscured the Christmas tree itself. 

Another word for habit is addiction. And addicted I was. As soon as stores jingled the bells, I became a crazed shopper as is the meaning of the season - joy, goodwill and peace for all! Oops, I meant sales, deals and Old Navy fleece for all! Fa la la la la. 

Face it, I grew up in a world where Dan Rather reported Black Friday shopping shenanigans on the evening news. Stampedes, injuries and even death caused by doorbuster deals. I’d speculate the meteoric rise of online shopping has saved lives, but not our wallets nor maybe even our souls. 

Truth is I’ve always been suspect of the moniker Black Friday given to the day after Thanksgiving. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Not the tryptophan, but the absurdity of a day of gratitude followed by frenzied consumerism. As if the words, “Pass the gravy and shop ‘til you drop” were one sentence.

I do understand the origin of Black Friday, the day of the year companies went from “in the red” to “the black.” A great prospect for small businesses. But when giant conglomerates (many who forced those small businesses out of business) are the ones profiting, the whole deal and day sours.

My daughter is the one who helped me out of the abyss of procuring gifts.  She asked if we could skip buying presents and “just spend time together” on the holiday. I nodded, “Yes, of course!” All the while, I flashed my Amex buying countless things no one really wanted or needed.

Like an addict, I couldn’t stop shopping to score the “best” gifts. I thought Christmas wouldn’t be as much fun without presents. Like an addict, I lied, telling myself I’d only buy stocking-stuffers, never mentioning that the stocking would overflow into bags of presents underneath.

Eventually, after years, I stopped spending so many hours spending. Not quite true. What I spent instead was time. Lots of it. With those I love. I can’t tell you the difference this simple request by my daughter has made in my life. It’s not tactile, nothing one could put in a box and top with a bow. One can’t wrap laughter, connection and joy.

With time, I came to see we considered being together as the offering itself. Choosing to be with each other with no token required. Turns out there’s a door prize for showing up with open arms.

Sure, I love buying gifts for my four-year-old granddaughter. But now, I don’t worry about giving her “just the right thing” because she already has it in my profound love and our time spent together. Because in the end, gifts were never the present. It has always been our presence. And that, dear ones, is my family’s new thriving and joyful tradition.

Happy Holidays!