Christmas Magic

How does a fat man get down a skinny chimney? Some of us barely fit through the front door! Well of course its Christmas magic. When you were a youngster anything was possible. The world was full of wonder, and excitement except when Aunt Gertrude came to town with her penchant for over-squeezing cheek pinching. The didn’t know her own strength vise grip was only outdone by the uncountable whiskers on her chin! Then, it was run for the nearest closet under the stairs and hope they didn’t miss you.

As far as the true magic of the season, it rests in all of our traditions. Who can get through it without a couple of good size turkeys making the ultimate sacrifice? This of course is so that we can sit our overstuffed carcasses in front of an oversized flat screen plasma TV and nod off, resting upon our oversized double chins during special football games. As usual the teams are a pair; one superior display of talent against a group that plays like a collection of women from the Red Hat Society. Nevertheless the whole family laying about the hovel like they were a bunch of tired basset hounds back after a long day’s hunt is pretty typical. It’s sort of a Norman Rockwell meets the Beverly Hillbillies; picturesque but not exactly inspiring of Christmas’ past.

The erosion of the true holiday’s message, giving each other gold and frankincense (no one can seem to find myrrh anymore), has been gradual, steady and to benefit of Mr. Claus’ celebrity status. Here’s a guy who invades your home (breaking and entering), dressed in a red furry suit (fashion disaster), and not only does he not take anything, but he leaves you stuff (insanity). Of course in our materialistic society, he’s going to be a right popular ol’ elf! His mode of transportation is also out of this world too (space alien). How does one get a gig like this? Imagine working one day a year, giving stuff away to the needy and the greedy, and being revered more than Brittany Spear’s silicone implanted trailer trash play humps: sounds like every youngsters dream!

As an adult of course things are a bit different. You become a bit more jaded, cynical and the closets are no longer big enough to hide from unwanted hairy-faced family. As a matter of fact people can get so swept up by the holiday that they actually sit and talk with Aunt Gertie now, pretending as if her face full of hair is not a good conversation starter. The magic may still be there and you can view it in the wonder-filled eyes of your snot-nosed children; they’re sort of just like you use to before adulthood transformed you into a neurotic shell-shocked whimpering remnant of your former self.

The traditions are still wonderful though a bit more varied, diluted, or disappointing. Stockings are still hung and by the chimney with care but mistletoe for instance, is something that’s missing. For countless Christmas’ as a child the “love bush” hung in the doorway so that when guests came over like Aunt Gertie with her face of stubble she could righteously expect a lip-smacking welcome. It was after all the closest she got to intimacy after Uncle Herbie up and perished in that mysterious backyard mineshaft disaster. All they ever found of him was his little black book, the one with five stars next to that mysterious girls name (Bambi) written in lipstick. However, today when you need decent noticeable size mistletoe vegetation, you can’t find the stuff to hang up anymore. Too bad because there are finally some good looking neighbors worth planting one on and you’re interested to see if they offer egg-nog induced tongue action..

Yet, despite it all we still find a quiet moment on Christmas Eve. Usually it is 3:00am after the last minute round of midnight madness shopping at the all night 7-11 (yeah, Slurpees and meat snacks for everyone’s stocking). When the wheezing from all of the rushing around has finally died down, we can reflect on the real meaning of the holiday; never getting what you really wanted!

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You see if you look hard enough some things don’t change throughout your entire life whether its prickly facial encounters or the roundness of a fat man in the room on Christmas - never mind that he is now your husband instead of your father. The presents may be smaller; the joy a bit more tempered yet there is magic just the same. The Christmas tree blinks its silent message in the stillness as you reach to place the last of the presents under the tree before Santa shows up.

Of course reaching under the tree with your face in the bottom branches sort of reminds you of kissing Aunt Gertrude and her pine needle whiskers. You may shudder, but it’s really the chill of an ol’ familiar feeling.