When the Holidays Hit Hardest

My middle school shop teacher had the habit of reading his students short inspirational stories on Fridays to pass the time and teach us valuable life lessons. I’ve probably forgotten most of them, but there’s one that very suddenly jumped back into my memory from almost ten years ago. I don’t remember the story word for word, but it went something along these lines: Two boys, one older and one younger, spent the days before Christmas working hard on lists of what they wanted and what Santa or their parents might get them. The oldest, six or seven, had a very creative mind and high expectations. He had worked on being especially good all year, did well in school, and was kind to his brother and his parents even when he didn’t want to be. On his list, he wrote several things: a cool toy car, a new Nerf gun, and since he’d been really good and he most certainly believed he deserved one, a new gaming console. His younger brother, only four, didn’t care about cars or toys or video games. He only wanted one thing in the whole wide world: a horse.

And so, after sending letters to Santa, being especially good while waiting so patiently for Christmas Day, the moment arrived where the milk and cookies set out for Santa had gone, and instead, presents surrounded the tree. The boys woke up early on Christmas morning, excited to see the boxes and knowing that Mom, Dad, and Santa, had gotten them exactly what they had wanted. As their parents came downstairs, they ate breakfast, read the Christmas story, went through stockings, and finally, arrived at the presents. The oldest went first, carefully selecting a present to unwrap. He selected a small box, labeled ‘from Dad’, and shook it around to listen for a clue as to what might be inside. He quickly tore open the box, and as he gazed upon his first present his smile quickly faded into a frown. “Aw man!” he complained. He pulled out a shiny, bright yellow toy car. “I asked for a red car, not a yellow one!” His first present was a disappointment. His younger brother followed suit going for his first present, another small box from Dad. Like his brother, he shook the box to see if he could tell what was inside. Unlike his brother, he could tell immediately. However, it wasn’t the sound that gave it away: it was the smell. When he opened the box, he was greeted with the great stench of a pile of horse poop.

“Cool!” the younger brother exclaimed, thanking his father. The oldest looked in disgust, wondering what his naive brother could possibly be excited about. Nevertheless, he was hopeful, going on to his second present, a larger box from Mom. Once again, he shook the box, trying to listen for a clue. Something rattled in the box, but he couldn’t tell exactly what. Curious, he tore off the wrapping paper, ripped open the box, and pulled a Nerf gun complete with all the darts a child could ever need. “This isn’t the Nerf gun I asked for,” he shrugged. “The one I wanted was an automatic, and it was blue, not red.” He sat back down as he watched his younger brother grab his second present. Same as his brother, he went for the medium size box that was labeled ‘from Mom’. He shook it, smelled it, and once again, was met with another pile of horse manure. Somehow even more excited the second time, he ran up to his mother and hugged her and thanked her.

By now, the oldest brother had had enough. He was tired of disappointment, and he turned his attention to the biggest box, the one Santa had carefully picked out for him and rewarded him with for being such a good boy all year long. This time, his parents warned him not to shake the box. He listened, slowly and carefully taking off the wrapping paper one piece at a time, and gently opening the box. The big kahuna: a new, unopened X-box, coming with two controllers and a cool and exciting racing game. “An X-box?” he asked himself. “This… this is the old one. I wanted the new model. The one with sensors and a different game.” He was angry. He was mad at his parents, mad at Santa, mad at the world. “I didn’t get anything I wanted for Christmas!” he shouted. While his brother was in a fit, the youngest went on to open his biggest present. His parents warned him not to shake this box either, though frankly, it was heavier than he was, and his parents had to help him carry it. Unlike his brother, he excitedly and ecstatically ripped off all the wrapping paper, staring face first at (you guessed it) the biggest pile of horse crap he had seen in his entire life. His face lit up in a gigantic smile.

“What are you so excited for?” his older brother asked. “Everything you’ve opened up is a big pile of horse crap!” Suddenly, they both heard a very distant neighing, coming from the backyard. “Well if there’s all this horse poop lying around,” he responded, “then there’s gotta be a horse somewhere!” And sure enough, as he ran to the window, he was right.

Finding the Horse

If there’s a moral to the story, it’s probably this: first, don’t be kid number one. And second, no matter how much horse shit is lying around, if you look hard enough, there’ll be a horse. You just have to know where to look.

I mentioned in my last writing that I knew December would be a hard month for me. There’s a lot going on in a very short period of time, and going from Thanksgiving to Christmas is like plummeting down a roller coaster, riding through loops, zig-zags, and barrel rolls, only to be off the ride in about two minutes. Christmas shopping, wrapping presents, planning family events and snack to go with them, double checking your bank balance every twelve minutes, rewrapping presents because they didn’t turn out the first time… it’s all a lot of work. Then, add on to that the stress of trying to run a preschool classroom around the holidays: planning cooking groups and art activities, managing a Holiday concert and teaching kids how to sing Christmas carols, scrambling to organize presents for parents and kids alike. Factor in a couple of snow days that throw your entire schedule off, your sister coming home from college, and the sudden notification that your grace period for student loans is suddenly up and now they want you start paying them back, and you’re in for a whirlwind of Christmas Confusion.

And even then, there’s still a part of Christmas that’s incomplete without Mom. Whether it’s the anniversary of her death hitting hard, or just a look at the Christmas tree knowing there’s fewer ornaments on it.

But there’s always something to celebrate. There has to be. Otherwise, no one would put in the effort to hang up stockings, deck the halls, write cards, sing Jingle Bells or Silent Night, or any of that.

And for five years, I didn’t. I shut down, tried to tune out Christmas and ignore all the pain and suffering that came with it. The only reason I celebrated Christmas at all was because my family was doing it, and I kind of had to. Of course, they’d gone through the same thing I had, so I didn’t understand why they celebrated either. I didn’t really realize why until one conversation with my grandmother. She told me that every year, they’d decorate the house the same way, every Christmas, with enough decorations to cover almost every shelf and every room with enough Christmas to make Hallmark and JC Penny jealous. It got harder as they got older, and us grandkids helped out. It got harder when their daughter, my mother, died nine days before Christmas. But did that stop them? No. They kept going, and keep going, because Christmas means more than being bummed out over holiday stress, or money, or gift giving, or even the loss of a family member. It means more than all the Santas, all the presents, all the trees, all the Nativity sets you put up.

A Christmas Miracle

“Maybe Christmas”, he thought, “doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps… means a little bit more.” -Dr. Seuss, How the Grinch Stole Christmas

When you get to the heart of it, Christmas is about love. It’s about the love you have for your family that makes hours shopping and wrapping worth it. It’s about the love you have for your friends that leads you to parties and laughs or to dress up in ugly Christmas sweaters that you bought. It’s about the love you have for your class and your kids that drives you work tirelessly so they get to experience the best holiday they can. It’s about the love of God, for us and in us, that gives us a reason to celebrate and be hopeful. Christmas isn’t about what, so much as why. It’s why you give presents to your coworkers or your family secret Santa, it’s why you cut out cookies for your preschoolers or bake them for a family party, why you give that extra dollar at check out to a starving child or why you struggle for hours with your sister setting up the Christmas tree.

The season was packed. Three weeks of kiddie Christmas crafts from melting snowmen to gingerbread houses and reindeer food. My sister and I doing most of the tree decorating, from getting the tree to hoisting it up, stringing the lights, and hanging ornaments. Work parties and family parties, both of which were incredibly fun highlights and rare opportunities to do things with so many people you love at once. Crowded supermarkets and losing track of where your sister went or what store you’re even in. A fun filled Holiday Concert with your kids running around everywhere. And of course, the 16th. The anniversary of Mom. It’s a wild roller coaster, and the loops, zig-zags, and barrel rolls constantly throwing everything out of whack. But this year, I couldn’t have asked for a better ride. I found out why I wanted to do all this and why I wanted to celebrate. It wasn't due to obligation or tradition or because everybody else is doing it. It was because of all the people I love, and all the people that love me.

First the first time since Mom died, I’m celebrating Christmas again. That’s the biggest Christmas miracle I can imagine. It’s greater than anything I could imagine receiving as a present this Christmas because it’s something that I’ve missed for so long. I didn’t know it, but I did. Maybe it’s because of the people I’ve been around (it’s very hard to be a Grinch when you’re surrounded by preschoolers eager to sit on Santa’s lap or sing carols). Maybe it’s being closer with friends and family and knowing that they give me reason to celebrate. Maybe it’s just time. Or maybe it’s a lot of things.

But I realized, and I don’t know when exactly, that this Christmas had to be different from the others. I was tired of being depressed around the holidays and just begging for the Christmas season to come and go. Somewhere along the line, I realized that Christmas needed purpose again. I needed to look for the horse. And six years later, I think I may have found it. The joy of giving, creating, and singing, spending time with people you love, sacrificing yourself, your time, and your wallet for the people you love, is Christmas. From the Gospel to Dr. Seuss, the lesson is the same. Christmas isn’t supposed to be about what. It’s supposed to be about why. And that why, is love.

My new favorite ornament: Mr. Jon