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Lifestyles: Happy Holidays?
God,
I Hate Christmas
Or An Atheist Tries to Survive the Holidays
by Colin James Haslett
My
earliest memory of Christmas (more a memory of a memory really,
aided by the snap shots my mother bewilderingly took of the occasion)
is of receiving a flying Snoopys doghouse. I loved it but
my father, despite his best efforts, couldnt get it to work
properly. Or maybe he just couldnt get it to work quickly
enough for an impatient four year old hyped up on candy canes and
jingle bells, it was three decades ago so youll have to forgive
me if the memories are a wee bit fuzzy after all.
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Regardless,
my joy quickly turned into a complete bawl fest, with photos to record
it for posterity. I dont know who I was more upset with, my dad
for not being able to make it work or Santa Claus for sending me a broken
toy. Obviously, at that tender age, I believed in Santa. I think that
young children, rather than believing in anything, believe in everything.
They dont have their B.S. detectors yet, so they take everything
theyre told and everything they see and probably everything they
can imagine at face value. Mommy saying Santa comes down the chimney
means that Santa comes down the chimney, and it doesnt matter
if the chimneys a four inch metal tube or if the fireplace is
even real. Daddy cant make the toy work on the first try or in
the first two minutes means that Daddy cant make the toy work
period, and your hero is vanquished by some cheap plastic and the words
"Some Assembly Required, Batteries Not Included." And somebody
reading you a story about God and Jesus and Heaven and Hell means that
you believe it all, and welcome to fear and guilt and paranoia under
the umbrella of religion.
I remember a few years later, when we were living in the central interior
of British Columbia, coming to Vancouver one Christmas and staying with
my grandparents and coming down with chicken pox on Christmas day. We
still put out cookies and milk for Santa that year and my parents left
him a note at home to let him know where we were, but I remember worrying
that my grandparents had a fake fireplace. I was a bright kid and I
had an inkling that there were an awful lot of chimneys spread out over
an awful lot of area for one man to go up and down in just one night,
but I was still just a kid and I still wanted to believe. After all,
if the whole universe can be created in just seven days how hard can
Santas job really be? But if you think about that the other way
around
. My parents were both raised Christian, they both went
to church and to Sunday school as kids but, for whatever reason, as
adults they stopped observing the organized aspects of Christianity.
My mother would explain that we believed in small-gee "god",
not big-gee "God", but it was obvious she didnt mean
small-vee "vishnu," or small-bee "buddha," or even
small-zed "zeus", she meant "Jesus dad." I
think that as a child I might have been to two church weddings, no funerals
and never to Sunday services. We didnt say grace or bedtime prayers,
but small-gee god was still watching over us and we had to be good to
get into small-aich heaven, and I remember clasping my hands under my
chin and closing my eyes and asking someone for help a time or two but
I dont think I had any idea just who I was asking for help.
I remember one Christmas afternoon when I was about fourteen or fifteen;
wed done the gift thing that morning, my dad had gone and brought
over my grandma, my mom was cooking dinner and I just started crying.
My dad took me aside and told me that it was probably just because I
was feeling the pressure of the season lift off of me, that it wasnt
an unusual reaction to a sudden reduction of stress. Thankfully he didnt
also point out the fact that I was fourteen or fifteen because what
adolescent doesnt immediately rebel at being told that adolescence
is hell for everybody. Coincidentally, this was around the time that
a few of the kids at school had taken to calling me Antichrist because
Id let it slip out, or maybe Id pompously announced, that
I didnt believe in "God". Or "god" for that
matter. I didnt know what I believed, in fact Im pretty
sure I told people I didnt believe in anything, but God was bunk,
a crutch for the weak minded, etc., etc. I was a bit of an ass when
I was in my teens, but in my defence I was an honour roll student with
negative athletic ability and a strong desire for the approval of authority
figures. A geek, in other words, and being a smug, pompous ass on occasion
was my best defence against my more thuggish peers. Ill also point
out that the kids calling me Antichrist were that same kids who snuck
out to the smoke pit at lunch. They were the kids who spent their weekends
in the park trying to be the first to finish off a flat of beers and
they were the kids who took great pleasure in torturing every one of
the geeks, nerds and associated junior high school outcasts. Most damning
of all, in my opinion at the time at least, most of them couldnt
think their way out of the intellectual equivalent of a wet paper bag.
If these were the kind of people who were sure they were going to heaven,
can anybody blame a teenaged me for not wanting to join them.
I remember a total of seven, slightly non-consecutive Christmas seasons
spent working at Radio Shack, Tandy for those of you not in North America.
This is where most people nod understandingly if Ive told them
that I dont like Christmas. I remember being surrounded by every
beeping, buzzing, clicking electronic contrivance and toy that nobody
ever needed. I remember ten hour workdays and sixty hour workweeks with
one forty minute CD of carols on constant repeat that still couldnt
drown out the beeping, buzzing and clicking. I remember getting sworn
at because we were sold out of the most popular toy on the 23rd and
I wouldnt call every other store in Vancouver to find one just
because the store was full of people trying to pay for the items they
had in their hands. I remember unwatched four, five and even ten year
old children climbing displays made of unanchored, empty cardboard boxes
to reach the toy at the top, and I remember being angrily told to "Unhand
my child" by a suddenly present parent while I was carefully lifting
those children off those displays so that they wouldnt break open
their precious heads. I remember Boxing Day, when people would want
their money back on toys their children had destroyed, on items with
no box or instruction manual or receipt, on items that wed never
carried in the first place. And I remember being told that I had ruined
some childs Christmas because an employee at a store across town
hadnt mentioned the words "Some Assembly Required, Batteries
Not Included," to the wonderful uncle or grandma whod bought
the toy. Ill digress here to point out that the sales commission
earned on the batteries for a toy often equalled or exceeded the sales
commission on the toy itself and none of us EVER forgot to mention the
fucking batteries. But what I dont remember is a whole lot of
Christian charity or kindness or love for ones fellow man. I dont
remember anybody spending a fraction of their toy budget on the gift
bank hamper for those less fortunate in the middle of the mall. I dont
remember anybody handing over the last one of anything to somebody who
asked for it a minute too late. And I dont remember anybody saying
"Merry Christmas," without making it sound like they were
wishing it was all over already.
Illustration Shawn Scott |
I
remember Christmas days spent at my mothers, being guilt-tripped
for going to see my father on Christmas Eve or Boxing Day, where
I was guilt-tripped for not being there on Christmas day. I remember
Christmas at my brother-in-laws parents place, listening
to my sister trash my dads new wifes family after having
spent the previous night listening to her trash her in-laws to those
folks. I remember telling people that I didnt want anything
for Christmas because I dont observe the holiday, only to
find that "Santa Claus" had visited my desk at work AND
my friends girlfriends house and left me something at
both places, usually something chocolate, which I eat but really
dont need. |
I franticly
punch the buttons on my car radio trying to dodge saccharine songs about
giving and love by musicians whod have more money than the Pope
if they werent paying alimony to a bunch of ex-wives. I pass by
Salvation Army kettles set up outside liquor stores by an organization
that loudly preaches the evils of drink eleven months out of the year.
I desperately fear getting within blocks of a shopping mall for the
entirety of November and December because, being a 6 ft. 3 in., 250+
lb., shaven headed, sensitive artist type Id rather not have to
bull my way through the shoulder to shoulder masses of much smaller,
but apparently less averse to physical violence, soccer moms out to
get the last one of whatever this years must-have toy is.
Let me be perfectly honest. Ive had good Christmases. Ive
also had crappy Halloweens, birthdays and Tuesdays. Thats life,
and its not like I think theres some cosmic conspiracy to
make my late Decembers miserable. That would kind of run counter to
the atheism thing, although Im a little less fanatic about that
now. I know, or have a better handle on at least, the things that I
believe. I also recognise that yes, I do have a belief system, its
just one devoid of any notions of divine influence or existence. I can
respect that other people believe differently from me even if I have
difficulty pretending to respect the specifics of those beliefs. Ive
met some few truly good Christians, people who actually seem to be trying
to live their lives according to the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth,
and Ive met no small number of absolutely nasty atheists, the
kind of people Id just as soon not be associated with on any level.
And I now know the difference between knowledge and belief and I accept
the possibility that I may be wrong without it swaying my beliefs. Heck,
Ill even admit that its possible that not only am I wrong
but that some particular branch of Christianity may have it right. Im
at a loss, however, as to how the majority of them at least cant
be doing it all wrong and be headed straight for an eternity of fire
according to each of the minorities making up the religions different
sects.
Still, this is a hard time of year for me. I get a lot of half-joking
Scrooge and Grinch comments from people at work when I ask them not
to decorate my desk for me. I wrap up presents for my mom and for my
dads wife because its an important holiday to them for whatever
reasons, and I desperately and foolishly hope that they will respect
my beliefs enough to not get me anything (except for leftovers: those
are always welcome). Im bombarded by the garishness of the season,
by lawn displays with Help-the-Poor boxes that use enough electricity
to cook plenty of meals for the hungry, by a Santa in every mall asking
the kids what toys they want from which of the stores, by sappy feel-good
stories on news programs that seem out to depress the hell out of me
the rest of the year. The best that I can try for is to just make it
through the season and wait it out, New Years is right around
check that, Im not wild about the artificiality of the whole concept
of New Years either. And forget about Valentines Day, me being
a confirmed bachelor and all. I guess Ill have to wait for Eas
whoops, thats another Christian holiday. Okay, its not really
that long until Victoria Day
except that Im an anti-monarchist
too, so I really cant get behind that one either. Fine, Ill
just wait for Canada Day. Im a patriot and it, coincidentally
I assure you, is also my birthday. Only six months away! God help me.
© Colin Haslett December 18th 2003
chasman@shaw.ca
Previously by Colin Haslett
VEGAS
Nice Guys
Finish Last
Angry Young Man Syndrome
The Big Lie
Serfs Up
24 Hours
What's Mine is Yours
Parents
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