By Rhona Canoy
SO… As we get closer to Christmas day, I’m grateful for the time alone dedicated to contemplation. Having chosen to distance myself from the frenzy, the opportunity to think about the past year, about my life, about everything really… makes me pause and wish that sometimes I didn’t think so much.
This particular holiday brings out the best and certainly the worst in people. For people who do go to church, this is the time when we hear about the basic foundation of the Christian religion. Our pastors and priests talk from the pulpit about the birth of Jesus and the reason why he was sent down to earth from above. We are reminded of the reason for his mortality, the saving of us sinful mortals from the fires of hell.
We are reminded of the sacrifice Joseph and Mary made to ensure the baby’s survival, of the humble birth in a manger, of the gift-bearing magi who came to honor the child. Lessons and stories so often repeated that we practically know the words by heart. But have we learned the lesson at all?
The effort to spread holiday cheer is certainly apparent. The trimmings and decorations remind us it’s December. Organizations, clubs, human socio-civic groups go out into the world distributing care packages disguising condescension as a charity. It has always rubbed me the wrong way, the ubiquitous phrase “sharing blessings with our less fortunate brothers and sisters.” Who is the less fortunate here? Those of us who are materially endowed to be able to donate a hundred pesos to the church offering basket each dawn at simbang gabi? Or to chip in a thousand pesos or two to the collective funds for our gift-giving activities? The money we consider expendable, drawn from purses or bags that cost much more than what we give away? Or leftover from the nights out with the boys consuming copious quantities of alcohol?
The “less fortunate” certainly look forward to this month on the calendar, jockeying for a position to be on some list of names “blessed” enough to get a goodie bag filled with food components that will feed them for a couple of days. Some gesture of faux generosity made to assuage the donor’s conscience for having so much undeserved wealth. I don’t know… this somehow borders on the obscene.
And yet. And yet. There are some people I know who will spend hundreds of thousands for Christmas, distributing these gift bags under a cloak of quiet anonymity. All because they believe in practicing what is preached. They do this every year, and nobody knows. No fanfare, no media blurb, no posts on social media. They include little toys for the children, soap and a basin for laundry, little packs of vitamins.
Now that I no longer totally believe in Santa, I, at last, understand why he comes in the dark of night, leaving gifts under the tree for us to find. The joy in knowing that someone’s face is lit up in smiles, even if we’re not there to see it, warms the cockles of one’s heart. The thought that we don’t know the person who took the time to think of us warms the cockles of one’s heart. The thought that we do these things, not for attention or credit, but just because we can, warms the cockles of one’s heart. At this point, those cockles should be just about cooked.
So why do we wait till Christmas? Why can’t we be kind and thoughtful to strangers throughout the year? Just because we can? I wish kindness were an unconditional thing. We either are or we aren’t. That would make things so much simpler. We wave away the beggars from our car windows when our back seats are filled with packs for the “less fortunate.” What is that?
Certainly, our worst behaviors come to light at this time. Have you seen the traffic? Have you noticed just how assholey we all become on the road? We are selfish grouches, that’s a fact. We will break traffic rules and all laws of human decency to get ahead of other cars, to gain a few feet of distance. When the traffic is barely moving, we’re all going to get to our destination eventually, aren’t we? Without the hand gestures, the swearing, the wishes for imminent death.
We are rude to the salespeople because their “ineptness” eats up our more precious time. Not considering that these unfortunate people have to deal with holiday assholes such as we. All. Day. Long. Isn’t that the height of inconsideration? Even more so because we know they’re underpaid but take the job because survival necessitates it. For those of us with household help, we are certainly more thoughtless. The many parties and social food orgies mean we get home late, keeping our helpers from sleeping a well-deserved sleep until after we get home. For serious alcohol consumers, we leave a trail of dirty dishes in the already-clean sink because… well, alcohol.
So what, really, is this season all about? I’m still trying to figure it out. This year for me it’s about missing my mom, grieving over a recently lost furry member of my family, and growing concern over the terminal illness of another one. It’s about remembering special people and letting them know I’m thinking of them at Christmas. This year, it’s not about the food. Which is a first for me.
Someone said, don’t do anything for love. Do it from love. That’s a good Christmas reminder. It should last me for the next 12 months.
