The True Meaning of Standing in Your Pants This Christmas

Post CXXX

Here’s the story of being a kid, adulthood, joy, and a flaming hobo.

I wouldn’t consider wind particularly wintry, unless you threw some confetti into the air in an attempt to create a vague semblance of snow. Or even the vaguest suggestion of a paper protest, although using paper to protest paper is like protesting against shoes whilst wearing a delightful pair of loafers. Although shoes aren’t the issue here. The issue is wind. A very windy wind, as oppose to a mildly windy wind. Which is barely more than a breeze. When I look out of my window at Christmas, I don’t expect to see a hobo chasing his hat down the street. Although I will admit, it is wonderfully humorous.

I expect to see a blanket of snow lain across the ground, the flickers of ice glinting in the low winter sun, its shine a thin haze struggling to break through an atmosphere rich in late year coolness. Icicles hanging in their feet from roof eaves whilst urchins beg for money like Jehovah’s Witnesses guilt tripping you at Easter, whilst you stand there listening, in your pants eating the head off a chocolate bunny.

There’s been no snow so far. Just rain and wind. I’m not the biggest fan of Christmas, but even I mourn the passing of the feeling of warmth and joy in December. Never did I imagine as a boy that my adult self would be in the midst of December banging a toaster on a worktop trying to get out toast through no fault of my own. It wouldn’t fit so I had to jam it in, became stuck and caught fire. I didn’t know what to do in that situation. I could’ve put it in a bowl of water in the sink, but you don’t put a toaster in a bowl of water. Blowing on it didn’t work either, so I resorted to banging it on the hard wooden counter. What I’d normally do, yes, it does happen every Christmas, is throw it out of the window, melodramatically dive to the floor with my hands over my head and let the snow deal with it. Oh, wait. There is no snow. It hasn’t happened this year, yet, but if it does, and I threw it out of the window, all I’d create is a flaming hobo.

Christmas was so fun when I was little. It felt like it lasted a lifetime and the whole world was a beautiful shining marble. They often say the world is a marble. That fascinated me as a kid. Now, as an adult, I just can’t help but think how stupid that is. Sure, it’s metaphorical. Still doesn’t change the fact that whoever came up with that metaphor had clearly never seen a photo of the Earth. It’s like that stork. If you’re gonna lie to kids about where children come from, at least make it logical. Ooh, yes, a huge bird lifts a child from a farm and carries it hundreds of feet into the air and somehow is sentient enough to fulfil its duty. Honesty is the best policy. “Mama, where did I come from?” “I got drunk and you popped out of my lady parts nine months later”. Meh. I would have been fine with that.

You can’t deny facts. It’s fairly obvious where you come from. You’re not the Virgin Mary. Which is an appropriate reference for this time of year. It isn’t really, though, is it? Jesus wasn’t born on December 25. All I heard during my childhood was that He was. “December 25, a little baby was born in Bethlehem, and He was the son of God, whilst also being God, but not actually God, because God was in heaven, His dad, but He was His own dad, with a mother that was and wasn’t His mother and an Earth dad that wasn’t really His dad but raised Him as His dad – understand?” “Erm, yes miss”. I’m a Roman Catholic. This is our second most important festival. But it still doesn’t change the fact the truth took off the shine of Christmas.

So, I’m not feeling very Christmassy. Jesus wasn’t born on Christmas Day. All the things that went with it happened at different times. It’s over in a heartbeat. People think the Earth is a marble, which is bloody ridiculous. There’s no snow. We have had flooding, right here in my hometown, gale force storms, and clothing blown into another ether. Our bin flew over the top of our house and landed in the neighbour’s garden, creating an almighty mess, but I don’t like them very much, so screw ’em. I should be freezing. There should be fog. I should have vapour billowing from my mouth. We haven’t even bothered to put up the tree yet. I haven’t even opened my Christmas cards. Well, technically Christmas is a birthday, and you don’t open birthday cards until your actual birthday. I usually open them on Christmas Eve after Midnight Mass. Which is at 11 this year. No, me neither.

I think life shouldn’t get less fun the wrinklier you get. So what if the decorations aren’t what they used to be? So what if there’s no snow? So what if I don’t feel in the mood? We don’t lose anything in this world of ours. That joy from childhood of racing down the stairs, falling over and crawling to the big bag of toys, momentarily gazing over at dad asleep on the armchair next to the sherry and cake for Santa and his reindeers, and noticing the crumbs down dad’s jumper, is still here. I’m surrounded by my family and they mean the world to me. The joy may be harder to see but it’s still there, manifested in a new form. And you know what? I’ll look back on now with the same fondness as I look back on the Christmases of my youth.

I might feel a little down, we all do now and then, but I’m wrong. We shouldn’t mourn the passing of days gone by, but instead look with excitement at the days to come.

American founding father, author, printer, political theorist, politician, postmaster, scientist, musician, inventor, satirist, civic activist, statesman, and diplomat, Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790), once said: “A good conscience is a continual Christmas.”

Peace Out :|:


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Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

To Contrive & Jive
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here To Read The Latest Post

Hark Around The Words
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