There is something about Christmas that is melancholic for me. I think I\'m supposed to be all joy and light and let everyone know that I\'m just so happy it\'s disgusting and it\'s Christmastime and that\'s why.
Maybe it has to do with Santa Claus. How did I come to the exceptional insight at the wise old age of four maybe, that Santa Claus is a ruse? I think my mother caused the downfall of good ol\' Santa but it probably isn\'t fair to blame her. After all, she isn\'t around to defend herself and we all need some kind of a way of putting in a good word on our own behalf. But now that I have her completely on the run, what happened was she wanted to help me put up a stocking on the mantle in hopes that Santa would find it and maybe fill it with goodies.
This is the point where we have a plan, the hanging the stockings plan, and now all the magic of it can be put aside and practical matters considered. The first problem is the hanging of the stocking. Just exactly how is that going to happen on a brick and cement mantle in a house my father built just last year?
These days, I might immediately give up on everything quaint and haul out the cordless drill, full contractor grade with a battery the size of a brick, and proceed to install one of those new fangled cement anchor screws that could easily hold the weight of the full sized professional home gym that Santa just might leave.
Oh, and the stocking that goes with this super sized structural improvement in the living room? Well, mom was a delivery room nurse (no wise cracks about how I got here, please) so she brought home something called Surgical Hose. What a frightful term. I really don\'t want to think about what that could have meant but it was a woman\'s support nylon that was ready to compete with the cement anchor screw and at minimum provide a place where Santa could hang up his entire sleigh, reindeer and all.
All seriousness aside, the magic of the season has gotten short shrift as the hard, cold facts of the world are now the common fare of even two year olds prepping for pre-pre-school. Out goes the real myth of the bountifulness of the earth magically giving us her fruits of apples and oranges and nuts and even candy canes. And with that loss of magic also goes my loss of joy and wonder at Christmastime.
But wait. All is not lost. For people with an accumulation of years, there could be the capacity to stop worrying about dreaded diseases, the complete collapse of capitalism and the impending pall of Christmas evening packed with grand kids all having continuous very important conversations on their cellphones. It might be possible for the wisdom of the years to actually reclaim Santa Claus not just as a mythical character but rather an actual gift of life itself from within ourselves.
That wisdom could bring back the joy of Christmas and be yet another way to age.
