Warning: Some of you will find this highly offensive. Well,
I have spent 40 some odd years being offended, so be it.
I like the holidays as much as the next guy, but enough
already. From the beginning of October to the end of December, Christmas,
Christmas Christmas. What’s more, and I need not remind you as you can read my
prior post, Jesus was born in Elul,
which falls around late August/early September. You are celebrating a pagan
holiday. As a former practicing Wiccan, I can appreciate that, too.
Since fourth grade when I opened my mouth at how sick I was
of Christmas crap – yes, I wrote a letter to Mrs. Tillman telling her exactly
that (I think that was my first blog post) – I have been made out to be the bad
guy for complaining. So, I quit complaining … about Christmas.
Seriously, why should I, a Jewish kid, have to make
Christmas tree ornaments? Where am I going to hang it? On my shmekel?
After being dragged into the hall and being told I was inappropriate,
Mrs. Tillman actually let me make a menorah ornament. It was still hung on the classroom
Christmas tree, but it was a small victory. It was better than when Mrs.
Motley, my third grade teacher, told everyone I killed Jesus. Killed him? I
didn’t even know him.
Over the years, I have calmed down and drudged my way
through the season. On Christmas day, I do volunteer work, so my gentile
friends can have the day off. Then, I take myself out for Chinese food and have one of the few cocktails of the year, which I sip while the other people look at me with sympathy. The middle-aged Jew, drinking alone on Christmas. Please, that is how I like it.
I have endured forty years of dealing with trees and music
and all things Christmas … until now.
What is it about this year that is irking me so much? Am I
getting old and cranky? No, that can’t be it; I have always been old and
cranky.
The problem started on Rosh ha Shana when I was asked to
perform a task by someone who should have knowledge of the fact that it was a
Jewish High Holy Day. I was aghast when she didn't understand I would be off. And, I think this has been boiling up ever
since.
Then on November 22, my 51st birthday and the 50-year
anniversary of the Kennedy assassination (by the way, he’s still dead), three
radio stations here, one I listen to regularly in the car, decided to go all
Christmas music until January 15. Oh my God! Christmas music 24 hours a day
seven days a week for two months! I am surprised the DJs aren't sticking knives in
their ears. What’s more, this area is probably one of the most diverse in the country.
How many listeners will you lose in those two months? I already found a new
station and will never change the dial again. Can you tell I’m old? I said “dial.”
Maybe it is the so-called “War on Christmas” that has people
going even more Christmasy? Really? If there is a war, why are stores opening
on Thanksgiving? Whose war is it anyway?
The only war I have seen is the shopper-on-shopper violence
in the stores. People getting shot over sweaters, people getting trampled for
stretch pants, people getting stabbed for scarves. Knife fights, car jackings and taser
attacks. Who brings a taser to the mall? What could you possibly want that is
causing you to taser someone? Or is it tase?
On an unrelated note, when I go to a clearance sale, I carry
a cross bow. It is much more effective.
Then, I hear this commercial on the radio asking for
donations, so this woman, who is crying her eyes out because her baby daddy ran
out on her, can have a nice Christmas for her five children. Forget Christmas.
If she is that broke, she needs food and clothes and toiletries and medicine,
but her biggest concern is having enough presents under the tree. Where are your
damn priorities?
Once they open the presents, where does that leave you? You
can’t live in a Barbie Dream House although a friend of mine’s sister does. Those
Legos cannot build you a financial future. That Tonka truck isn't going to carry your ass to a job.
How spoiled are your children that you have to get
everything on that list? What are you teaching them? Why do you let them write
those damn lists in the first place? And, why do you let them sit in a
pedophile’s lap? This man knows when they are sleeping, when they are awake,
when they’ve been good or bad, and you leave him milk and cookies after you let
him break into your house. To put your children in further danger, you take
them to the mall, so they can ask this pervert for presents. My God, people!
Are you fucking insane?
I know you are insane because your children now work for the
government as interns, and I have to sit in meetings with them. You know what
you taught them? You taught them that if they don’t get their way, they can
throw a tantrum and be disrespectful to people who are twice their age. On the plus
side, since they always got what they wanted, when something doesn’t go their
way, they quit. On the negative side, we end up with a new set of interns.
Here is the best example of all. When I was young, the
telephone was rented to you by Ma Bell. We had the same rotary phones in our
house, one in the living room and one in my parents’ bedroom, from 1962-1973. They
were both flesh tone (that was actually the name of the color). We kept them
for eleven years! When call waiting became available, we switched them out for
push button phones, which we kept for the next dozen years. Not today. Now you
own your phone, and you can pay as much as $600 for one, and in twelve months,
it is obsolete, so what do you do? Demand a new one for Christmas. And if you
don’t get one, you throw a tantrum – no matter your age.
Funny, I always keep my phones until they absolutely fall
apart, which explains why my iPhone has a rotary dial and weighs thirteen
pounds. It is difficult finding a long enough cord, too.
The last time I got what I wanted for Hanukah, Uncle Stanley
gave me a fire engine pedal car. That was 1967. I loved it so much that I haven’t asked for anything since. This may also explain my love for base
model antique cars. Funny thing is my brother dared me to ask him for the fire
engine pedal car, so I did, and I got it. I remember as if it were
yesterday. We were watching black and white television in my parents’ bedroom
while the adults were downstairs, and I was wearing blue footie pajama with
little football players all over them. I loved those pajamas.
Later, if I had asked for something, it wouldn’t have
mattered. My mother was the last person to climb over a bunch of goyim to get
me a … what did we have back then? Oh yes, a Hot Wheels set. I eventually got
one, but I didn’t ask for it.
Today was the final straw. I walk into the office and see a Santa,
lights and a manger scene made out of wooden dolls. I said nothing, but two
Christian co-workers actually mentioned how they
found it offensive.
Then while standing near the holiday potluck – let’s call it
what it was – Christmas potluck, the same individual who asked me to work on
Rosh ha Shana asked me, “So, what are you plans for Christmas?” Normally, I
would have thought she meant, “As a Jew, what do you do?” But, this clearly
wasn’t the case. All of a sudden, it was 1973 again, and I was explaining to
Mrs. Tillman why I was tired of all this Christmas crap.
But, I didn’t say a word. I was raised right, so I smiled,
walked away and didn’t participate in the pot luck although I contributed. They
also held a gift exchange, but after years of ending up with cheap gifts
including a pair of women’s slippers that someone regifted, when I made the
effort to get the perfect gift, I decided for the first time not to
participate. Someone ended up with a bottle of Gold Bond Medicated Lotion.
Seriously. That is just wrong.
If you want my opinion, and if you’ve read this far, you do,
the only reason there is a War on Christmas is because year after year, there
is less and less true meaning of the holiday, and it all gets shoved down our
throats whether we like it or not beginning in October.
Next time your kid hands you a Christmas wish list, tell the
lazy bastard to get a J-O-B and earn it.
One final note from the world’s greatest bargain hunter: Shopping,
no matter how good the bargains are, is not worth losing your life! Vaysmir.
If you are offended,
good, buy my books: www.miltonstern.com.
