There are some things we say proudly and others we say only when necessary. This is one of those other things. And while it’s not really necessary now, I’ve made great personal strides in this department as of late – and tis the season, after all.
I’ve never been a Christmas person. (Gasp!)
Usually people stare googly-eyed at this statement, and then sort of understand why when I tell them that I come from a Muslim background – even if it’s a non-practicing one. But most people don’t really understand what that feels like. Especially having spent nearly my entire upbringing years in Missouri and Kentucky – where they really put the Christ in all things Christmas (understandably, of course).
Did my parents try to bring the twinkly season home? Absolutely. Once we moved to the states, we had a tree, we put up Christmas lights, and I thank my folks for that. The bottom line, though, is our heart wasn’t in it. There was no history or tradition backing up those acts. All our ornaments, while beautiful, were bought at the store – there was no sentimentality tied to each glass or ceramic decoration. I didn’t even know that was “a thing” until recently.
I, for one, was faking it – faking that I belonged to a club that I clearly didn’t. The whole celebration, the convention – it didn’t really mean anything to me more than a reminder of another abundant group of which I did not belong.
Not to mention, I never believed in Santa. How could I? He didn’t visit me until I was 5; in fact, I’d never even heard of him until then. Being the only kid who knew the truth from kindergarten on was brutal. I definitely accidentally shattered a few kids’ North Pole dreams. I played along, though, more or less; my parents would mark a few gifts from Santa, which was sweet, but I knew the truth.
The bottom line is that this holiday didn’t awaken any warm and fuzzies in me. As I got older and left my parents’ house at 18, I’d go home for Thanksgiving (my family’s favorite and tradition-filled holiday) but pretty much always stayed wherever I was living for Christmas. Usually I would offer to work on Christmas Eve and Christmas day if need be. And if I didn’t need to work, I treated it like any other day. In 2006, I memorably had my Christmas dinner at Denny’s. It was pretty good.
Scrooge, Grinch: I’ve been playfully and not-so-playfully called both quite a lot. Yes, it got to the point where I cringed at the sight of Christmas decor and shuddered at the sound of Christmas music. That is, until the last couple years.
My girlfriend adores Christmas – I am talking cookie baking, live-tree buying, got-to-only-have-colored-lights-cuz-that’s-the-way-it-is believing, sopping-with-tradition Christmas love. And I’ve got to say that she’s been steadily chipping away at this icy heart of mine. Why? Because over the past few Christmases, we’ve been creating our own traditions complete with a rainbow ornament at the top of our tree.
She’s also brought her holly jolly history to me – the roots of her Noël love. I’ve watched her homemade videos of Christmas morning when she was a little girl. Her family has embraced me with open arms, with red and green wrapped presents in hand, and most importantly, with eggnog. She has ornaments from her whole life that we’ve gone through one by one – and truth be told, my heart grew three sizes that day.
I think I finally get it. Giving the holiday context, warmth, and memories – that’s why it’s so significant. We are making it our own. I don’t just play along; we orchestrate our own festivities. I no longer feel like I’m looking in the window of a party that I wasn’t invited to. Instead, we now throw the party!
Cheers!
