“Christmas time, Mistletoe and Wine, Children sing
in Christian Rhyme.” - Cliff Richard
I dislike Christmas, I have to admit. When your are
young the excitement begins towards the end of November. For me it was the Toys
‘R’ Us advert, where Geoffrey the Giraffe in cartoon form leads the children to
the local store like a cartoon Pied Piper. Over the coming month, the Coca-Cola
advert comes on with seasonal music and a friendly Santa waves at a child as the
big truck tears through some overly lit village. A town made to look like a
Santa’s Grotto.
Then you get people who have a desire to cover the
front of their houses with Christmas lights. Trying to be the best in the area,
trying to prove something like a Bamboon showing bright red ass. Christmas
trees in windows, Santa stop here signs. When you look at it, it’s ridiculous.
What significance do bright sparkly lights have to do with the birth of a
religious Messiah. Do Muslims throw up bright lights to celebrate the birth of
Mohammed. No they don’t. To show their appreciation they travel to Mecca, they
prey multiple times a day, yet Christians go to Church one day a week or one
day a year, on Christmas day to celebrate Jesus. And if you don’t give one
third of what you earn you’re a bad Christian. Now who the hell thought of
that? That had to be a King wanting more money, a scam to try and get the poor to
give more than they had. God will not love you if you don’t give your share.
When you live like shit the afterlife is all you have to look forward to.
But I digress. These are just rambling thoughts.
Christmas isn’t enjoyable anymore when you hit mid teens. The previous year’s
you feel like you are being spoilt. The latest consoles, the latest toys, for
me it was Transformers and a Playstation one. But after you leave school, it’s
like your parents mindset changes. Your in the real world now, your in the
workforce so what do you need with childish things, they think. So what do they
get you? Pants and socks, a jumper, clothes generally. Now one of the first
things you try to do when you get a job and start living in the real world, is
you buy your own clothes. You try to nuture your own style, be your own person.
But your parents buy you clothes, and you smile but deep inside you think, that
your parents don’t understand you, they don’t get you. They are cramping your
style. Your relatives give you cheques for 5 pounds, and more socks, or God
forbid the dreaded Christmas Jumper, overly thick and ghastly to the sight,
normally depicting reindeers and or Santa.
Then on Christmas day, you wake up not as as early
as you used to, because lets be honest you know what your going to get and the
programmes on telly that early are all very very childish and beneath you. So
you wake up about 9-10ish and wander downstairs in your Christmas pyjamas
because you don’t want to offend the family. And shock horror, either family
are around or they have invited someone from the neighbourhood around for Christmas
morning. And you are embarrassed, thanks Mum. While you hear the neighbour and
your Mother sniggering at your pyjamas you open your first card. Happy Christmas
Nephew, Auntie and Uncle Blah Blah with the obligatory 5 pound cheque inside or
even worse and book voucher. What the fuck? I can’t buy a drink with a book
voucher, shit I can’t even buy a bloody comic with a book voucher, what use is
it to me. At that age a book voucher is a reminder of school and your past that
now, your better then that you have moved on mentally. More cards more
money/vouchers. The first present is chocolate in the shape of a fat Santa. The
second is a pair a novelty socks. None of which you want. The best present you
can hope for is a razor with multiple spare blades and the obligatory
aftershave balm and soap on a rope. You spend the rest of the morning bemoaning
your gifts in your head, not letting the family know you are disappointed.
Until you your Mum tells you to go and get something from the freezer in the
garage and you see it. The bike you have wanted for a few months, wrapped in a
little bow. Your excitement overwhelms you, you almost start to cry. Christmas
has been saved.
Two hours later after you have freezed your ass off
riding around on it it time for dinner. A big fat turkey with all the
trimmings. Enough to feed a small village in the Third World. Your belly is
rumbling, the only down side is you see brussel sprouts on the plate. The Gary
Glitters of the vegetable world. Look like big balls of snot and taste like
rotting garbage. An hour later, after finishing everything on the plate, under
threat of not getting the desert that you so desire. But you have to concede
defeat, and undo the button on your jeans. And wait until the food has settled
and you have farted out the noxious gas that comes with a plate of sprouts.
You sit in front of the television watching the Christmas
specials of comedians that stopped being funny before you were born. The only
highlights being the Only Fools and Horses Christmas special and the network
premiere of the latest Bond film. By early evening your bored senseless and
decide to meet up with friends and hang around on a street corner until it time
to be in because it better to be cold then bored with the family.
Over the years this pattern continues until your old
enough to drive and you decide to go raving on Christmas and Boxing Day. Your
parents don’t really see you till New Years day when you look like shit and can
barely put two words together in a cohesive sentence.
Then years later something changes. You have
children or someone in the family has children and then your attitude changes.
For me it was when my cousin gave birth to her Daughter. She was born in early
December and I met her on Christmas Eve. For three hours I held her in my arms
and we bonded. She grabbed my little finger and didn’t let go. I fell in love
with her that day. The following Christmas’s were spent trying to find the
perfect gift for her in her age range. Whenever we were in the same room she
would come and find me, insist on sitting next to me. By the time she reached
four years old she was walking and talking. Grateful for the presents she had
been giving. Showing her appreciation with a hug and an “I Love you”. And all
of a sudden Christmas gets back it’s meaning. It’s not about Jesus, it’s not
about the crass commercialization, the Hallmark moments, it’s about the
children, the look on their faces. The love they give and you give back.
Christmas is about family and love.
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