Christmas Time! The Best Four Goddamn Months of the Year!

Well, it’s that time of year again.

Shut up. Yes it is. Been in a Walgreens lately? There are already shelves full of wrapping paper lining the tops of the aisles. How about a Jo-Ann Fabrics? They’ve got ornaments for sale. I’ve even heard the odd “holiday” radio commercial here and there. And if you read The Consumerist, you’ll know there are a number of stores that already have displays up.

Here’s the thing: I hate Christmas. A lot. More and more with each passing year.

It wasn’t always this way: when I was a little kid, it was the best day of the year. I loved it. As I grew up, it stopped being an awesome holiday where I got tons of loot and saw my favorite relatives. When I was a kid, every single family Christmas was at my grandparents’ house. After they became too old to host the event, then died, it began rotating to various relatives’ houses. It never felt the same and Christmas lost most of its magic.

Later, in college and for a few years after, I worked in retail, the belly of the slavering, wallet-sucking beast. At one store, we began receiving Christmas merchandise in August. If we were lucky, the Christmas carols on the PA didn’t start until the Friday after Thanksgiving. Most of the time we weren’t, and they started a week or two beforehand. If there’s a better way to make someone loathe Christmas music–making him listen to it for eight hours a day, day after day, week after week–it would have to be akin to the treatment scene in A Clockwork Orange. While you’d think that Christmas carols would stop on December 26, you would be wrong. Very wrong. One year at Kmart, they continued well into the middle of January.

Over the years, Christmas stopped being a magical time and became a sickening national orgy of consumerism. It became a burden, with every retailer shouting: “Buy shit you can’t afford, then give it to someone who may not even want it!” “You don’t love your family if you don’t buy them shit!” “Sure, you bought shit for your family and a couple friends, but did you remember to buy shit for your teacher or boss? How about your neighbors? The mailman? The dangerous-looking bum that always glares at you on the bus sure looks like he could use a new jacket!”

Fuck.

Even if I was materialistic, which I’m not, I wouldn’t like the holiday. I’m so impossible to shop for that I don’t even know what to buy myself. I was given a $200 gift card for Amazon.com for my three-year anniversary at work, and I haven’t used a penny of it. That was two months ago. As a result of being so difficult to shop for, I end up with a lot of well-meaning stuff I don’t want. Merry Christmas, I got you a shirt you don’t like and can’t return! My drawers and closet are full of shirts and jeans from my mom that have never been worn. I feel guilty about getting rid of them and wasting her money, so they just sit there year after year. Happy Holidays, here’s a box of warm, woolen guilt! Hold it up. Does it fit?

On the flip side, I enjoy giving gifts, but only ones that I think people will actually enjoy and use. My family is just as hard to shop for as I am. My parents have three cars (one is a Corvette), a boat, and an ATV. My dad has a full woodworking shop, my mom has a full sewing room. If there’s anything that they want, they already have it. My sister is equally difficult. There’s no joy in giving a gift, then awkwardly pointing out that the gift receipt is tucked inside the box, because, you know, in case you don’t like it or something.

The most ridiculous part of all is that I celebrate this stupid, made-up holiday in the first place. If it wouldn’t disappoint my parents, I’d dispense with all the extraneous trappings of the season: the tree, the presents, the garish light displays, the Jesus, and just use it as a day to spend with my family. (Not the food, though. God, do I love the spread every Christmas.) My mom loves to buy me things, I think because it’s a tangible way for her to show her love. My dad is the same way–when I was a kid, Christmas day was just about the only time he seemed genuinely happy. Like me, he struggles with depression.

I’m also not looking forward to the next four months of incessant reminders of a religion I take no stock in. Those of you who still believe the reason for the season isn’t money, imagine you walk into the mall, and every store is filled wall-to-wall with dreidels and menorahs. Vendors are hawking latkes from every mid-mall cart, and Klezmer music is blaring from every low-fidelity thirty-year-old speaker. What’s more, the Chanukah Zombie is in the middle of the food court with all the good little Jewish boys and girls. Imagine that this goes on for months at a time, and that every commercial break on every TV and radio station is filled with constant reminders to buy, Buy, BUY! BUY SHIT FOR THIS HOLIDAY THAT HAS NO MEANING TO YOU! In between the commercials, imagine that there are very special episodes of all your favorite shows where everything is going wrong and Homer isn’t going to make it home for the lighting of the menorah but oh wait everything is fine because a miracle happened, happy holidays everyone.

It’s enough to make me choke the first person I see wearing a red and green sweater.

As the Holiday Season fervor whips into a frenzy over the next few months, I’m going to get grit my teeth and snarl every time I hear a happy Christmas tune, see a poorly-done light display, or receive another Holiday savings flyer in the mail. I want it to be done yesterday. Quietly.