By Jarad Sassone-McHugh –
Over the past few years, Christmas has slowly changed. Whether this change is for better or for worse, no one can tell just yet, but the great holiday of Christ has been vitiated.
Once upon a time in a golden age known as the 90s, innocence, belief in a majestic fat man, and nothing but euphoric joy encompassed the month of December in anticipation and eventual satiation for that holy day.
In the 90s, a plethora of toys and half eaten cookies indulged by a mysterious figure was not beyond the realm of reality. A solemn nativity scene told a beautiful story, shrouded in darkness by biblical terms and musings of ancient prophets. It was a story that our childish brains could never fully conceive.
There was something promising about Christmas in the 90s that made you wait in unwavering anticipation from Dec. 26 until the following Christmas season. To decorate the glorious tree, to put up sparkling lights, and to exchange gifts were physical projections of the Christmas spirit which brought only joy.
The transformation Christmas has taken seems to be a dark one. Picking out the tree is a hassle that most of us loathe. It has become a full day of aimlessly wandering through forests in the dead of winter as families argue and fight about which tree is fuller, despite the fact that they all look the same. It is not until the dark of night begins to set in that the families are finally forced to choose one of the homogenous evergreens.
Picking out the tree has become a painstaking tradition which takes hours to do and only leads to more family arguing as the slowly dying gift of nature is hulled into the house.
Even worse than picking out a tree is lining the outside of the house in glowing multi-colored orbs, because some guy way back when thought it would look really cool.
The day always starts with excitement and idealistic dreams of how wonderful the usually-bland house will become, but those dreams soon end when a box fully of tangled rope lights is opened and the whole day is spent untangling them. What sick fiend took the time to twist and contort all the light strings? Surely there must have been some attic hobbit who gets odd kicks out of screwing up people’s Christmas lights.
Finally, after the lights are untangled it’s time to go up on the roof and clumsily fumble around, with cold and swollen fingers, over clips that for some inane reason do not fit on to your roof correctly, despite the fact that the box said in large print, “fits all roofs!”
Finally, following all the buildup and anticipation, is the arrival of Christmas Day. Your parents have gone downstairs at 2 in the morning when they thought you were sleeping to set up presents under the tree with “From Santa” sloppily written on the top of every box and bag. Even though you and your siblings found out Santa wasn’t real about ten years ago, mom insists on the tradition.
Unfortunately, with the realization that Santa isn’t real came the realization that gifts come from somewhere else. That somewhere else is you, with your empty wallet and shoddy memory. It happened again: you forgot to buy any gifts, thus deeming yourself the miser of the family for that year.
Even if you’re one of the lucky ones who remembered to buy gifts, there’s the risk that those gifts will go unappreciated, and your brother forgot to buy you something too.
You drag yourself out of bed around 1 in the afternoon, groggy after entertaining your grandmother because she had too much wine during Christmas Eve dinner. You put on a plastic smile just to unwrap the ugly sweater your mom thought you’d love so much.
Christmas cheer is dwindling, but, maybe it isn’t Christmas itself that has changed, but us. Christmas was magical and beautiful in the 90s, but it’s still the same today. Growing older has a way of robbing people of that youthful joy.
We’ve lost our innocence and Tim Allen has made too many Santa Claus movies. The toys and Claymation elves that once danced around our heads have danced their way on to the next generation. Our time is up and unfortunately we are well on our way to becoming bitter men and women whose Christmas spirit is cold and jaded. Merry Christmas!
This artice was written in collaboration with Nicklaus Collette and Jim Bean.
