I typically abhor Christmas, and the holiday season in
general. I run from it. Ask my sisters, many are the stories of me running
cursing and screaming from their houses because I just couldn’t handle making
the sweet tea, or going out for ice. I’m not kidding I wish I was, but I’m not.
I’m a holiday jerk. This year, as I’ve aged to the ripe old age of 43 I may be
reconsidering some of these long held/bull-headed thoughts I’ve had over the
years. Basically, I’m tired of being a selfish butthole.
First,
lets look at the Peanuts Christmas Story. I was raised on this show. I missed
it once, and I cried so much, and there was nothing mom or dad could do; it was
horrible. The Peanuts Christmas Story is near perfection. It still amazes me on
so many levels. How did “they” allow this subversive message out? The networks
must have been insane. This is one of the things I absolutely love about
Christmas. Charlie Brown is one of my heroes. In spite of certain failure and
disaster, he muscles up and gives it his all. Charlie Brown is like us, he’s
got no money and is caught in large world that’s hard nearly incomprehensible to
understand. This makes his struggles seem not only real but epic. His efforts
to find the perfect tree for the Christmas Play are akin to the Labors of
Hercules. If Charlie Brown had a tatoo it would probably say something catchy
like, “Don’t Give Up the Ship”. Christmas and Peanuts go together like pecans
in pie.
I’ve
spent Christmas’s all over the world Spain, Afghanistan, Knoxville, and now
Iraq. But the ones I remember the most
fondly are in Cowan, Tennessee. We always, cut our own tree. Dad would usually
go riding around in the woods and grab a Cedar Tree off the side of the road.
Dad liked the Cedar cause it smelled so good, and didn’t get sap everywhere.
Later, when I was in high-school me and mom went Christmas Tree hunting. We’d
drive around some Cowan backroads and found a nice one. Me and Mom got out of
the car, and were sizing it up. Just as I was ready to go to chopping with my
trusty Boy Scout Hatchet Mom says, “Garry what’s that over there?” “Oh, that’s
somebody’s house, and it looks like were standing in their front yard.” I
replied. We back out nice and slow. We drove down the road and turned off onto
a dirt road. We drove down a hill and around a little bend. Parking the car we
got out and surveyed the landscape. Lots of fine Cedars to choose from. All of
sudden, there’s blue lights! An unmarked police car is coming right at us with
the blue dash light blazing. Mom screams, “Ahhhhh!!!” I’m totally confused.
Then out jumps my buddy Eric grinning from ear to ear. “Gotcha!” I nearly pee
my pants. Mom made him stay and help me chop down the tree. The tree is key. I
still have a lot of the old faded decorations we had as kids.
Carroling,
we always we went carroling. I pretended to hate it. We’d get out of school to
walk around Cowan and sing. We always sang to the retired people and shut-ins.
They loved it. Sometimes they’d have a cookie for us, but mostly just big
smiles. My favorite song was, “Bring me some Piggy Pudding and Bring it right
Now!” I would be scream-singing this at the top of my lungs. It was so funny.
Luckily, our audience was largely hard of hearing. My teachers however, were
not and I received more than one “stink eye” over my poetic license. It would
be cold, we’d be out walking up and down the streets singing to homes and the
local businesses. Afterwards, back in our classroom, somehow Hot Chocolate
would be waiting with one of those extra-large marshmellows floating in the
middle of it. We always had a big Christmas Tree in the classroom, and made the
decorations for it out of construction paper and popcorn stringers.
Christmas
plays, as a child I started out as a mere shepard, clothed in my Dad’s blue
tartan robe. One year, I got to wear the electric blue terry cloth rob, and
let’s just say it was badass. I was the
ELECTRIC-NEON-DREAM-COAT-TECHNA-COLOR-SHEPARD! I liked being the shepard,
nobody expected much, you just stood there next to the plastic sheep. Good
times. Of course, I was always aggravated I never got picked to be Joseph. Dane
Myers always got to be Joseph. Jealousy ran through my veins like sausage
gravey over a homemade biscuit. Honestly, I was really jealous. However, one
year I got to play the mean inn keeper. The one that “has no room”, that was
me. So I’m in my cardboard inn, and Mary & Joseph (D.M.) walk up and ask
meekly, “Do you have a place to for us to stay?” My cackle was heard echoing
through the entire church, AAAAHHHHAAAHAHAHAHAAHAA…………….I’m 10 years old.
“Room! Room for you!” I bellow. “We don’t serve your kind kind here!” I sneer
as only a 10 year old child reared on the full-measure of 80’s sit-coms can
sneer. My church is cracking up and laughing. Mary & Joseph are truly laughing
and horror stricken at the same time. I’m laughing so hard on the inside, so
hard. The Church Play Director, doesn’t know what to think, she just shakes her
head. God Bless her soul for putting up with me. I was, and am a complete
lunatic. Afterwards, all the old guys in the Church were patting me on the back
and laughing congratulating me on a stellar performance. I imagine they were
problably quite sleepy until I started yelling and making a scene.
My
last Christmas play was “Mistletoe Macho”. It was a train wreck. We were all frustrated hormonal teenagers.
Because of my previous shenanigans I had
somehow moved into the lead role of “The Mistletoe Macho”. I never looked at my
lines and had the poor Choir Director in tears. No really, at one point she was
crying telling me how awful I was. She wanted to cancel the whole thing, but
that wasn’t an option. Everyone else in the play went to the rich private
school, Saint Andrews Sewanee up on the mountain. They were all in Drama Class,
and took French and Latin. There was no way I could compete with that! So I
just didn’t take it seriously, but somehow on performance night I managed to
make it work to much appluase and laughter. Afterwards, I apologized to
Cyntheia, our wonderful Choir Director.
What
is Christmas without food! I was always the kid that liked to eat, still am. I
eat my stress. I eat, and swallow my stress and anxiety to keep it deep inside
where no one can see it. I would highly recommend this as the preferred method
for dealing with lifes tribulations. Holiday feasts are mighty to behold and
better to paratake. My Mom would always go above and beyond. Here repretoire
was extensive. She made the best chocolate chip cookies. Especially, these
Date-Nut-Ball things that were just amazing. Mom made it all. Here recipes were
tried and true, perfected over decades.
Christmas
dinners at my parents house are some of my happiest memories. My nephew Randy
and I were invariably racing trucks through the house. The older folks would
try relaxing until it became too much, and we were told to either go outside or
locked in a room until we’d worn ourselves out. Christmas dinner involved the
one time a year I saw my Dad pray in public. He always had a gift for words,
and his offerings of thanksgivings and blessings were one of the few peaceful
moments the busy little house on Hines Street ever experienced. My sister Faye,
always had this amazing orange cranberry sauce. Glenda would bring pie, she
makes the best crust ever. One year, around 1980 Mom had an organic impulse.
Dad had to go and buy a live turkey. He kept the poor thing in the trunk of the
car all day, till the fateful hour. When Dad opened the trunck out it popped in
a flurry of feathers and squaks. Running all over the yard and neighborhood
until they got it corned in the garage with the ax. Then, off came its head, no
telling what the neighbors thought. Then Dad had to pluck it, he conned Faye
into helping him pluck the bird, it was back braking work. Finally, Dad built a
fire in the backyard, and rigged up the
old cast iron cauldron over my swing set. It was a Shakespearean Tragedy and
Tom Turkey the star. “Double Double Toil and Trouble Fire will Burn and
Couldron Bubble!” Then he gave the bird a good scalding to get the feathers off.
Mom was never so happy. It was good eating too. When the Shores go Organic, its
gonna be interesting for sure.
Christmas morning, I always had a pile
of toys. Thinking about it now I understand how much my Dad had to work to make
that happen, and I feel guilty for being the kind of kid that had to have a
bunch of toys to be happy. My Dad never had anything, and never wanted
anything. He raised his kids, he wasn’t perfect by any means, but he hung in
there when many people would have run away. Mom and Dad would stay up late
cookinng the turkey and wrapping presents while we kids slept, or tried to
sleep. I remember the day my brother got his 30-30 Marlin Hunting Rifle. I
would get the same rifle in honor of him years later (I still have it).
Christmas was the day we’d all sit around our tiny house and enjoy each others
company. Somehow I always ended up with a toy race track. It had controllers
and you’d race these electric cars around the track. Me and dad would play that
thing for hours. I had one that was Star Wars themed and Dad would always be
Darth Vader, and he would win. Luke Skywalker rarely won when my Dad was behind
the wheel of his Tie-Fighter. It would make me so mad. We would have so much
fun. It was one of the few days everyone seemed relaxed. Mom and Dad were glad
to have pulled off another Christmas making there kids happy. My Mom and Dad
worked so hard to give us stuff, stuff in hindsight I didn’t really need.
Looking back on it all I am grateful for all they gave me. They gave me a safe childhood,
and I was loved and cared for. That is no mean feat. It’s funny, I know people
who’ve had money and wealth their entire lives. I’d not change places with them
for one minute. This is what Christmas means to me, it wasn’t perfect. But it’s
what I had, and that’s all I need.