We are now closing out the first week of December and I have yet to enable my Christmas spirits. Another year of a somber Christmas mood i reckon. Last year I spent my entire Christmas Day on a 24 hour binge of “Greys Anatomy” particularly season 11 where I cried like a baby, because I lost the imaginary love of someone else’s life. If that’s not strange and depressing enough to be crying over a tv character. I don’t even remember getting up to eat because Netflix was my companion for the day and with or without me the program was sure to go on. Again, I’m stuck in a whole other predicament but luckily Netflix won’t be my comfort this year.why? I will be working in the non affected healthcare arena, where Holidays are considered any old day and mean absolutely nothing to the underpaid non salary workers. I am among the lesser valued employees who keep a company going by the blood and sweat of my labor but we are similar to that of paper towel in value. As much as we would like to devote our holiday to our children and family we are now required to work two holiday. In other words it’s mandatory to abandon your family for time and a half wage. Which unfortunately doesn’t do much for your paycheck. Somewhere along the line of career choices I lost track of what Christmas meant. Working class America has now conveniently connected Christmas to retailers biggest sales event. No more true meaning to Christmas except for the embolden Santa Klaus version, the white man who joyously drops a bag of gifts down your chimney and graciously fills all the empty slots under the Christmas tree. Me personally i much rather my Jamaican version where I was too poor to even associate gifts with Christmas. Where we would go to church and celebrate the true holy meaning of Christmas that is known to my family’s religious entity of the birth of their savior Jesus Christ. Again, forgive me I’m not of a joyous mood with the hypocrisy of what Christmas should entail. These beliefs are solely based on my values and mine alone.
Here I walk the halls of the place where I spend most my days, and most of the year, on the job. A job that once captivated my heart because it was along the path to a career that I lost interest in along the way. I walk these halls as a constant reminder of my failure. As I enter each department the constant reminder of a joyful season hit me like a cold breeze on a winters day. The Grinch in me disavow the colorful lights, the poinsettia trees that are displayed every freaking where, the huge red bows that look like the one on the Mercedes Benz commercial that I wouldn’t mind being in my parking spot, and finally all the Christmas trees that line every department and rooms in the facility. So, as Im forced to confront the season, I couldn’t escape the Christmas holiday spirit if I tried.
At home my children are excited. The joys of making Christmas wish list is a stark reminder of all the loose leaf paper folded nicely in areas of the house I find a temporary moment of solace, the idea of a ten day vacation from school, and the idea that Santa Klaus still exist. As if we aren’t tormented enough on a daily basis by Unpredictable natural disasters, scandals after scandal, and more intuitively the world as we know it falling apart. The sarcasm in me wants to tell them That Santa Klaus is stuck at the Border waiting for the mysterious caravan because reindeers were deemed illegal immigrants trying to cross the border. It’s then I realize both the joke and satire are neither funny or humorous because The world has become so sensitive that it lost its funny bone. The days at laughing at ourselves no longer exist because someone else share the same story and to them it’s personal, and how dare you make light of their situation. At times Santa and the idea of him can be a nuisance to me, selfish me ask myself how can Santa get all the credit for me emptying my account. To simply state it, he is a man who name carries more weight than my entire being. I find it ridiculous to write from Santa on all the gifts I purchase, as I said before There is a dark cloud which sets just above my head at this time of year. I know I seem bitter! How dare I state the much obvious selfish questions like I really want to take on the world largest teddy bear without cause. I blame it on my mood, like I said before there is not one bone in me feeling joyous at the moment. But guess that’s the kind of mood I’m currently exhibiting. I find laughter in the most informal things now a days. Why not? The Way the world is running its best to laugh when you can and as loud as you can. My children are what keeps me going so I will suck it up and pretend to be the most joyous person in the universe just for them and no one else, At least in their eyes. Consequently the other eight hours when I’m away from them I’ll be the one who finds a fault with every decoration that alludes to the false Christmas spirit.
I maybe a miserable old hag to some but I will not rob my children of one of childhoods right of passages. My biggest thing is I work my ass off to buy Christmas gifts doing jobs that aren’t equivalent to my talents, then this guy who comes around once a year in a red pajama supposedly down a chimney gets the credit. Their I go sounding like a broken record, a bitter woman, or a Hater as Society would label me. Yes, a bitter woman who on all accounts hasnt done half the things society has accused her of doing. However everything has being categorized by her status of being a single black female equivalent to bitterness a picture so boldly painted. In my defense I like to fight my own battles and come out on top yet strong enough to acknowledge the difference between empathy or sympathy. Telling my children Santa Klaus don’t come to the hood wouldn’t make a difference either. Why? because they are so convinced that they are a part of the upper echelons of society because of their enrollment in the predominantly white school. At this point I’m all out of tactics I implore I have to fulfill their wish list to the best of my ability, I have to be involved in the decorating of my own pre-lit tree, and as I hang each decorate ornament to soothe their weird taste or whatever it is they call it, I take a sense of pride knowing “I’m able”. I do it for the lasting memories, In hopes of leaving a footprint on my children’s memory for them to recall their happy time.
Today I have to do some deep soul searching, of the uneventful events that demolished my love of Christmas. At some point in my life I’m going to seek a seasonal intervention that will reconnect me to the memories I suppressed of times when Christmas was just that of Christmas. The first thing that comes to mind is spending it in Jamaica with true authentic family and friends, pure and unfiltered me was tapped by joyous moments and memories that would surface on the not so merry Christmas living abroad. The idea of gifts was invalid, family was all that mattered and traveling to Jamaica was the thing. Those were my fondest memories of Xmas, where love and family intertwined. Now that seemed like ages ago cause no longer am I a candidate for the joys of Christmas on the Island. I am the island, I am responsible for the task at hand bringing Christmas to the kids and making it as memorable as the ones I had as a child.