It never lives up to the hype, and this year I’m proud to report was no exception. Much to our disappointment, Santa did not force himself down my chimney only to die of asphyxiation due to the mid-efficiency furnace catching him by surprise.
Me? Well, my kids were fighting pretty much from the word “go” after being up too late the night before. I was up late putting out the second set of presents ( my wife’s family opens theirs on the night of Christmas Eve…how screwed up is THAT!!?? ).
As a good, upstanding Christian citizen with only a very minor police record for public nudity, I found my attempts at teaching my children the true meaning of Christmas were once again overshadowed by Santa…that fat, jolly son-of-a-bitch in the shopping malls with a hint of cheap whiskey on his breath. One day Santa…it’ll be me and you…
I even went the extra mile and incorporated Hanukkah into our celebrations. Let me be clear, I’m not one to embrace all winter celebrations. But I do have a slight “Messianic” streak that compels me to go the Hebraic extra mile. I quickly found my kids are perhaps not old enough to grasp that either. Ancient guerilla war campaigns and Antichrist figures maybe need to wait for next year.
So there you have it. Within minutes of the gifts being opened, the so-called “Spirit of Christmas” was extinguished like a cheap match. I as a parent, have accumulated more plastic garbage. My kids pancreases are working overtime from the sugar shock. My wife is bumping into walls from exhaustion as a newborn hangs precariously from her exposed breast like an oversized leech. Shopping malls risk a riot if they play Jingle Bells one more time. And me…I’m playing with my iPod touch that I got when I returned stuff.
So Merry Christmas. And to Santa…I’ll see you in Hell.
© 2008 – 2013, John Paul Parrot. All rights reserved.