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Bah-dad-gum-Humbug
“Christmas time is coming, Christmas time’s a coming, Christmas time is coming and I know I’m going home.”
Tex Logon wrote that song and Bill Monroe performed it. They must have been happy about the impending holiday season and, I admit, when I hear the old bluegrass standard, it makes my toe tap a little bit.
But it has been hard to get excited about Christmas this year. I can’t even explain why.
Maybe it is the state of world affairs. Maybe it is the extra cash exhausted from the tail pipe of my truck or the cost of milk and now, even the cost of eggs. Who can afford to make merry?
And it just seems so silly to run out and spend a lot of money on gifts that the recipients will forget about by February 1st. So, why in the world do I do it?
To make matters worse, I broke a couple of ribs helping my wife put up Christmas lights last week. We live in the woods. Who in tarnation is going to see our Christmas lights? We put them up, turned them on, went outside that night and said, “My, aren’t they pretty.” We haven’t turned the lights on since.
Ok. I know some crumble of cheese or undigested beef on Christmas Eve will welcome a bunch of fear mongering spirits to hound me about my attitude, but I am just telling you the truth. Bah dad gum humbug!
I once had Christmas spirit.
I can fondly remember pressing my nose and hands against the window panes in our old house while I waited on my oldest sister to arrive home from South Florida. I could hardly stand the wait because I knew once she and my brother-in-law arrived, Christmas would officially begin.
My mother always cooked a pot of vegetable soup. It made sense. The soup would simmer all afternoon and it would be hot no matter what time my sister would arrive. It was a tradition and it was always so, so good.
We would add their stash of gifts to the tree and it always looked a mile high. Santa would come on Christmas Eve and we would spend Christmas day cooking a traditional turkey and corn bread dressing dinner.
My mother made homemade eggnog and, on this very special occasion, would allow my father to add a half pint of bourbon to “cook the eggs”. It is the only time I remember alcohol in our house and we, the children, were allowed to drink. This, I am sure, was never discussed with the sisters at the First Assembly of God Church in Millville. If you see them, please don’t mention it. I would not be suitable for my Mother’s church membership to be posthumously revoked.
Slowly, our Christmas traditions changed and ultimately disappeared altogether when my mother died. New ones were born but they were never quite the same.
Perhaps my most memorable Christmas was in December 1998. I had the opportunity to travel to Israel with our anchor, Amy Hoyt, and our director, Lisa Schofield. We were the guest of the Israeli Ministry of Tourism and of Dr. Larry Wade, a local Baptist minister, educator, and tour guide. We were invited to tape a documentary on the Holy Land which we produced and broadcast in January 1999.
It was a bit disarming as we walked to the 1700 year old church. Children were tugging at our sleeves to give them money and the Muslim call to prayer echoed through the neighborhoods as we entered the small doors of the church. It was all very alien to the way we live.
The walls were dark from fires through the centuries and it smelled of dampness and incense. It was very quite as we climbed down the old steps to the exact spot where Jesus was born.
Nuns prayed silently in the corners of the room. Candles were lit and pilgrims stood in line behind us. They waited patiently for their turn to reach down and touch a brass star inlaid in marble that is placed over a cave that served as a manger. Spontaneously, the small group in the room with us started singing Silent Night. It was the deepest reverence I had ever felt.
I was anxious for Amy to turn to talk to the camera as part of the documentary we were taping. As she touched the brass star, she was overcome with emotion. Everyone was seemingly touched to tears but me. I fought them back. I was seeing it all unfold through the lens of a camera and it made it seem unreal.
I was trying desperately to keep focused on the work we were there to do and asked her to repeat her dialog more than twice until we could get it right. Amy is always professional and it was unusual for her to miss a cue but there were powerful forces at work in that tiny, damp room. We were there for only a few minutes but the scene replays over and over in my mind; a powerful experience that will linger a life time.
It was a Christmas unlike any other. It was confirmation for me that Christmas is more than a myth. We returned home with only a few days remaining in December and just in time to spend Christmas with our families.
I have attached the clip of our documentary as we entered the Church. It is at the end of the blog.
I try to remember that experience when I grow cynical about Christmas. Sure, I love to see my granddaughter’s face on Christmas morning. I love the food, the family experience, the festivities, and the music. Did I mention I love the food?
I just can’t take all of the commercialization, the panic shopping, and the overall stress associated with Christmas. Enough already!
But I will keep my opinions to myself. I will simply smile and say thank you when someone says “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays” or whatever it is we are supposed to say these days. I will likely not say anything back. Every time I figure out what’s politically correct, someone changes it. So, pardon me if I sound rude and ignorant.
Meanwhile, I will mark the days off, one by one, until December 26th and this year’s Christmas becomes a faded memory like all the rest. And if for some reason on Christmas Day I am all smiles and happy, it is not because I received a visit by three spirits during the night (though some shall attest that it is surely needed.) It will be because my granddaughter has brightened my day and I have remembered the reason for the celebration.
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Larche,
Tears again! How do you do it?
My daddy used to sing “Christmas Time’s a’Comin’” and play it on the guitar.
I totally understand your sentiments about this time of year.
Thanks for sharing your Holy Land experience. The video clip was awesome.