It all started two weeks ago, when I brought in my 50s jukebox radio into the shop to listen to 94.9 Mix FM, the 24-hour Christmas station. Not only did the radio add a certain savoir faire to the shop, but the Christmas jingles that jingled out, put everyone in a very, merry, festive mood. That is, all but Ashley.
Growing up near the Mexican border, Ashley and her family weren’t all that big on Christmas carols. In fact, besides the gift giving part of Christmas, Ashley and her family weren’t all that big on Christmas, period. Which is why she rolled her eyes the moment, the moment Barry Manilow came on the radio. But to be fair, it was Barry Manilow. Even I have rolled my eyes more than once at that botox bewilderment. Still, I couldn’t understand what was so bad with Christmas music altogether. Was it the catchy lyrics? Was it the message of the songs? Or was it that most of the songs had over 11 verses that just seemed to go on and on and on and on? Ashley didn’t seem to know herself, just that whenever she heard someone sing, “Deck the halls…” she felt like decking the singer.
It was actually kinda sad that Ashley became irked by Christmas carols, when in reality, they were supposed to have the opposite effect on people’s spirits. Christmas songs were supposed to be festive and joyous as they filled your heart with Christmas spirit. At least that’s what I understood from those old Rankin and Bass Holiday special cartoons. I had to find some way to turn Ashley’s bah, humbug into a fa-la-la-la songbug. Ok, that metaphor sucked, but at least you get what I’m saying.
As I tried to think up of ways to get Ashley into the Christmas spirit, I realized things weren’t much better at home. Nobody wanted to trim the Christmas tree, or the house for that matter. My mother complained about opening boxes of Christmas memorabilia collected over the years, while my father was off on another one of his rants about how much Christmas would cost him this year and whatnot. Then my brothers were off on some idiotic, ego trip, thinking they were way too old and way too cool to stay at home and watch classic Christmas cartoons while drinking hot cocoa . Was I the only one filled with the Christmas spirit this year or what?
It was like a cheesy Christopher Columbus movie where it was my responsibility to save Christmas before midnight or else the holiday itself, along with humanity, would cease from existing. But with my finals just around the corner I didn’t have time to save the world. Hell, some days, I didn’t even have time to color coordinate my shirt to my jacket.
But then last week, a call came through the flower shop that changed my entire perspective about Christmas. The law offices of Weinstein and Berger asked Alice and I if we could deck their lobby with boughs of holly and other gay apparel. And in keeping with traditional style, Alice and I went all out, trimming the tree with bright and colorful accessories and the stairwell with fresh, green garland. In a mere matter of minutes, we turned a drab and dreary law office into a Christmas wonderland that was fab and cheery. And just as we were hanging a giant wreath on the stairwell, Mr. David Weinstein stepped out of his office and asked why we had failed to represent the other December holidays. Most obviously and notably, Hanukkah.
Well, Mr. Weinstein, the answer was actually quite simple. During a staff meeting, earlier that week, when the office was trying to decide how their lobby would be decorated for their annual Christmas party, Mr. Weinstein had no opinion whatsoever. But there he was, the unmistakable voice of menorahs and kosher chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil. And so Mr. Weinstein asked if we could add a giant menorah with hanging stars of David and wrap the stairwell with blue and silver ribbon, all for just twenty bucks. Now, far be it from me to perpetuate the stereotype that certain religious groups are cheap, but come on! Twenty bucks? The singing and dancing Rabbi hamster at Walgreens, alone, was $9.99.
And just when I was about to tell Alice that Hanukkah wasn’t even a big deal until it came to the U.S. and Jewish kids began to wonder why they didn’t get any gifts during Winter Break, the subject of Kwanzaa came up. If we were gonna celebrate the Festival of Lights, why not include the First Fruits of the Harvest? Would the Black community be offended if fruit was not scattered sporadically around the office? I didn’t know and honestly, I really didn’t care. I mean, Alice and I already used the entire budget that the law office would allow us to use, and with just twenty bucks more and nothing else, creating an entire atmosphere that would appease everyone with different religious and cultural backgrounds seemed so exhausting.
Not to sound like a modern day Archie Bunker, but seriously, when did saying, “Merry Christmas,” to people passing, as children were laughing, become so passé? Why did we have to change everything and get so political? They say if it aint broke, don’t fix it, so why couldn’t we just leave well enough alone? And if I’m not able to get into the Christmas spirit, how am I supposed to get everyone else in the mood?
Growing up near the Mexican border, Ashley and her family weren’t all that big on Christmas carols. In fact, besides the gift giving part of Christmas, Ashley and her family weren’t all that big on Christmas, period. Which is why she rolled her eyes the moment, the moment Barry Manilow came on the radio. But to be fair, it was Barry Manilow. Even I have rolled my eyes more than once at that botox bewilderment. Still, I couldn’t understand what was so bad with Christmas music altogether. Was it the catchy lyrics? Was it the message of the songs? Or was it that most of the songs had over 11 verses that just seemed to go on and on and on and on? Ashley didn’t seem to know herself, just that whenever she heard someone sing, “Deck the halls…” she felt like decking the singer.
It was actually kinda sad that Ashley became irked by Christmas carols, when in reality, they were supposed to have the opposite effect on people’s spirits. Christmas songs were supposed to be festive and joyous as they filled your heart with Christmas spirit. At least that’s what I understood from those old Rankin and Bass Holiday special cartoons. I had to find some way to turn Ashley’s bah, humbug into a fa-la-la-la songbug. Ok, that metaphor sucked, but at least you get what I’m saying.
As I tried to think up of ways to get Ashley into the Christmas spirit, I realized things weren’t much better at home. Nobody wanted to trim the Christmas tree, or the house for that matter. My mother complained about opening boxes of Christmas memorabilia collected over the years, while my father was off on another one of his rants about how much Christmas would cost him this year and whatnot. Then my brothers were off on some idiotic, ego trip, thinking they were way too old and way too cool to stay at home and watch classic Christmas cartoons while drinking hot cocoa . Was I the only one filled with the Christmas spirit this year or what?
It was like a cheesy Christopher Columbus movie where it was my responsibility to save Christmas before midnight or else the holiday itself, along with humanity, would cease from existing. But with my finals just around the corner I didn’t have time to save the world. Hell, some days, I didn’t even have time to color coordinate my shirt to my jacket.
But then last week, a call came through the flower shop that changed my entire perspective about Christmas. The law offices of Weinstein and Berger asked Alice and I if we could deck their lobby with boughs of holly and other gay apparel. And in keeping with traditional style, Alice and I went all out, trimming the tree with bright and colorful accessories and the stairwell with fresh, green garland. In a mere matter of minutes, we turned a drab and dreary law office into a Christmas wonderland that was fab and cheery. And just as we were hanging a giant wreath on the stairwell, Mr. David Weinstein stepped out of his office and asked why we had failed to represent the other December holidays. Most obviously and notably, Hanukkah.
Well, Mr. Weinstein, the answer was actually quite simple. During a staff meeting, earlier that week, when the office was trying to decide how their lobby would be decorated for their annual Christmas party, Mr. Weinstein had no opinion whatsoever. But there he was, the unmistakable voice of menorahs and kosher chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil. And so Mr. Weinstein asked if we could add a giant menorah with hanging stars of David and wrap the stairwell with blue and silver ribbon, all for just twenty bucks. Now, far be it from me to perpetuate the stereotype that certain religious groups are cheap, but come on! Twenty bucks? The singing and dancing Rabbi hamster at Walgreens, alone, was $9.99.
And just when I was about to tell Alice that Hanukkah wasn’t even a big deal until it came to the U.S. and Jewish kids began to wonder why they didn’t get any gifts during Winter Break, the subject of Kwanzaa came up. If we were gonna celebrate the Festival of Lights, why not include the First Fruits of the Harvest? Would the Black community be offended if fruit was not scattered sporadically around the office? I didn’t know and honestly, I really didn’t care. I mean, Alice and I already used the entire budget that the law office would allow us to use, and with just twenty bucks more and nothing else, creating an entire atmosphere that would appease everyone with different religious and cultural backgrounds seemed so exhausting.
Not to sound like a modern day Archie Bunker, but seriously, when did saying, “Merry Christmas,” to people passing, as children were laughing, become so passé? Why did we have to change everything and get so political? They say if it aint broke, don’t fix it, so why couldn’t we just leave well enough alone? And if I’m not able to get into the Christmas spirit, how am I supposed to get everyone else in the mood?
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