I'm a Closet Christmas Fanatic

I'm a grinch, a Scrooge, a big humbug. I grumble about Christmas music, I never say Happy Holidays (much less Merry Christmas), and I don't give two hoots about Jesus' birthday. That's what I portray on the outside, anyway. You can find me on any given December day walking around in my grinch pajama pants and glow-in-the-dark grinch t-shirt and if you tell me you're going Christmas shopping? You can count me out of it. But it's time to let the cat out of the bag . . . I'm secretly a Christmas junkie. The news shouldn't really come as a surprise. Afer all, Christmas embodies many of the qualities I fervently believe in. For instance: peace on Earth, joy filling the hearts and minds of all worldly creatures, larger-than-life decorations that would be considered gaudy as sin any other time of the year, and let's not forget the cast of strange and macabre characters that make up the Christmas mythology. What's not to like? Of course, with all the holiday trappings it's important to remember the true meaning of Christmas: PRESENTS! Just kidding. I'm actually referring to the birth of Jesus. That's right, I refuse to let Christians have the monopoly on celebrating teen pregnancy. Especially for those of us on the margins of society, there is something empowering about a 14 year old girl wandering the streets of Bethlehem looking for a place to birth her bastard child. Coupled by a supporting cast of a few Pagan priests with a penchant for astrology and a dead-beat dad who fades into the background, the Christmas story is easily one of the greatest narratives ever told. And then there are the parties! Endless amounts of food and wine, chocolates, candies, cookies, tender meats, creamy beverages. For those of us without children or extreme sentimentality, December becomes a month packed with gluttony and drunkenness. We hop from one holiday party to another bearing a white elephant gift in one hand and a side dish in the other, smiling hazily at old friends we haven't seen in years, sharing a certain awkwardness that is the hallmark of mainstream Christmas culture.

So there it is, I've come out of the Christmas closet. Mere moments ago I waited on a customer wearing a 'Keep Christ in Christmas' button. Outwardly I kept a stoic face, looked at the button with mild disgust, and told the woman to have "a very pleasant holiday," but inwardly, even she couldn't crush my holiday spirit! While I'm at it, I suppose I should make a confession. The other night, after one of many holiday parties ended and my roomate was asleep in her bed, I crept out to the living room, turned on the television and watched the HGTV Celebrity Holiday Home Special. It featured three designers decorating the homes of Kathie Lee Gifford, Jewel, and Holly Robinson Peete (I have no clue who she is) and it was the chintziest and most wonderful special ever aired on a cable network (Kathie Lee's home was decorated like a hunting lodge). Perhaps I'm exaggerating, but nonetheless, I'm trying to make a point. I'm sick and tired of these old conservatives creating an intentional show of their 'Merry Christmas,' their spittle flying onto my face. They are such rebels! Such pioneers! They laugh in the face of political correctness, they are champions for Jesus, who is the true savior and bringer of Christmas! All other cultures, religions, hell, all other holidays be damned! THIS IS CHRISTMAS! I'm here to burst the proverbial bubble. Christians and retailers don't get to keep Christmas to themselves anymore. If a gay atheist can celebrate Christmas, anyone can. Now, when someone spouts 'Merry Christmas' at me in an attempt to offend, instead, I smile, and while I usually utter a friendly 'Happy Holidays' back, I know they can see the Christmas Spirit burning inside of me. MERRY CHRISTMAS!