As a young boy growing up I could catch the Christmas spirit right after Thanksgiving. I attended a little blue collar working class elementary school, William McKinley, and we would sing Christmas carols — remember when you could do that? Such political incorrectness as Silent Night, Little Town of Bethlehem and Santa Claus is coming to Town. There’s now fatwa by the high lord executioners in political correctness that prohibits all such merriment in today’s public schools. All of this good cheer and peace on earth must be stomped out and be replaced by the winter solstice.
So here’s a list of holiday celebrations I knew nothing about as a boy. Hanukkah. Kwanza. Ramadan and, of course, Festivus.
So let me bring a little focus on this time of the year. The funeral home across from the main gate of the steel mill I worked in was O’Neil’s. Run by a bunch of Irish drunks named O’Neil. One of the great things the O’Neils would do is put a live nativity scene in their front yard that consisted of a couple of dairy cows, a couple of sheep and maybe a goat. But I remember being in the sixth grade and from the cradle there was a beam of light that shone at night because this was the bed of the baby Jesus. I snuck under O’Neil’s fence, which was right across the street of the Edgewater Tavern to discover that the micks had put a bare 50-watt light bulb and extension cord in a little wooden cradle and I was shocked to see that a GE light bulb represented the Baby Jesus. Looking back on that I think it was my break point. After that the holidays have pretty much gone downhill.
Here is what I think of the various elements that help make up the yuletide season:
Decorating
I hate decorating. My father and members of his relatives put up a string of lights that would stay there 365 days a year. Plug that baby in December first, unplug it a couple of days after the New Year and neighbors would tell the old man if a bulb was out.
Christmas Trees
I always thought that the tree was supposed to go up on Christmas Eve. It took my brother Jeff to figure out the reason we always got the tree on Christmas Eve was that it was as cheap as it was going to get. Selling a tree on Christmas Eve is like trying to sell a dead cat; no one wanted one. The old man would wait to 6 p.m. on Christmas Eve, go to Allegheny Boulevard and buy a good tree. What are the odds he was not going to get a good deal? By the way, only later in life did I discover that bubble lights weren’t just for the rich people.
Shopping
I hate shopping. I’m not a good gift buyer or giver. I always like women that would do their own shopping and I would just pay for it and of course you can never go wrong with cold hard cash. I’ve written about him before but I had a wonderful Uncle Barnie who was a Seabee and worked on a dredge on the Allegheny River. The greatest gift package he ever gave me was a knife and a cigarette lighter that, when you tipped it upside down, the sailor girl’s clothes came off. For a sixth grade kid that’s the mother lode. A knife and a nude woman.
Fighting
Fighting may not be a standard Christmas night activity for all ethnic groups but it is a venerated Irish tradition. Now the Mayor of Glendale and recent gubernatorial candidate Mike Dunafon and I had discussed and pondered this question. How many times on Christmas Eve did the tree get knocked over? It’s like the Richter scale if you ever saw your uncle fall into the Christmas tree or somebody pushed him in. I’m telling you, that’s Christmas. Fighting is part of that.
The Blues
I know for many it is the most wonderful time of the year, but I find myself suffering once again from the Christmas time blues. I don’t seem to get them on Halloween or Groundhog Day, the Fourth of July or Labor Day. I know I’m not alone and as my friends say there’s standing room only at AA.
Santa
I don’t hate Santa but then again we have the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, God and Jesus. We teach kids they’re all real. But now with a grandson I think it will be most fun to watch him fall in love with Santa.
Let’s recap. How many times are we going to listen to Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas is You.” Do you remember your drunk parents? Remember getting Christmas cards you have no idea who they were from? Living on nothing but turkey-based meals for a week after Christmas?
Once those presents are unwrapped it’s depressing. So I don’t want to be too middle class and we’ll ignore the obvious target of big box stores moving product. But doesn’t every one of us remember when they found out Father Christmas does not exist. Why it is shocking is because your sainted parents have simply been lying to you for the first seven or eight years of your life.
My real problem is that I never did get that pony.
So happy “ramanahanakwanzma. “ No “Merry Christmas.”
Put up your holiday tree and shut up. Remember this folks, Christmas trees are a pagan ritual. Happy New Year.
— Peter