Dec 20, 2012

My agnostic nativity

I’ve always adored Christmas.  When I was young, I would go crazy with anticipation.  We were fairly poor growing up, but my parents refused (I know now) to get public assistance.  My dad worked in backhoeing, and when the ground was frozen there wasn’t much for him to do.  Some weeks the only income we had was the $20 my mom got from helping an elderly man in his home, Mr. Parsons.  I was so thankful for Mr. Parsons.  Still, there were days when all I had to take for lunch was a couple slices of bread.  My mom doesn’t recall that and doesn’t necessarily think it’s true, but I recall it clearly.
            Still, at Christmas, we were spoiled rotten.  Through the year we didn’t get sugared cereal or pop or candy or toys.  Somehow, my parents were able to give us four kids fabulous Christmases.  We’d come down to a living room practically bursting with gifts.  And we got up so early that by the time it was light, we were done opening and ready to start playing.  I’ve had difficulties with my parents over the years, but I will always be grateful to them for making that time of year so magical for me.  They must have saved all year, bought presents throughout the year, and/or gone into credit card debt to do it.
            I was the kind of kid who believed in Santa Claus, hard, and could not be convinced otherwise.  It was the magic I loved.  Santa could be at my cousin’s house early so she could open her presents on Christmas Eve, and later come to my house so we could open ours Christmas morning.  The writing on the tags was different because Santa was in a hurry, for Pete’s sake; this was not proof enough to disbelieve.  I used to wish that I was one of our fish so that I could see Santa Claus just once.  But I NEVER EVER wanted to peek and find my Christmas presents.  I am all about surprises remaining surprises, the buildup and anticipation, all that.