Topic: Christmas

Author: Chris Dunn

Whew! Another one in the books. Glad that’s over. Like always, Christmas comes to an abrupt end, an eruption of pure joy and ultimate release, like actually reaching the bathroom before your stomach contents hurl past your lips to splash mercifully in the toilet at a crowded party. For me this season isn’t one of joy, family love and camaraderie, it’s an agonizing laundry list of obligations, responsibilities and chances to disappoint.

It all centers around the giving of gifts. I take gifts very seriously and more than anything in the world, I would love to have the time to do a deep dive into the world of commodities armed with an intimate understanding of everyone I wish to please and come out the other side with  inspired gifts for all, that demonstrates how much each and every person in my life means to me, but there just isn’t time. And truly, that way madness lies. To put your heart on the line, to say you know someone well enough to find that special thing their life is missing, that tchotchke that they’ve always needed but never knew existed… “Oh, I’ve already got one of these…”

The other end of the spectrum is the gift card. What better way to say, I really have no idea what you like, and I couldn’t be bothered to find out, so here’s a little something. It’s like money, but it’s only good at this one place. Oh, and be sure to spend it soon, I hear they’re only honoring these things for a limited time now. Try reading small print on the back. Jill tells me, “It’s like giving the person the excuse to spend that money on themselves.” Couldn’t we all just keep our money and spend it on ourselves then? It’s like the interior from one my line of slacker Christmas cards. Outside: “Here’s a card…” Inside: “If we’ve exchanged things of equal value, it’s almost as if nothing has happened.”

But at least the gift card is an out. Worst of all are the people who say, “Oh, get me anything. I really don’t care.” Those words are like a punch in the gut to me. I can feel the bile mixing with the food and the stomach acid, everything suddenly surging in the wrong the direction. I’m adrift in a sea of uncertainty, unmoored and guideless. Do they really mean that? Could I stop by a gas station and grab them a pack of Swisher Sweets, and they would go, “Oh, that’s nice. Thanks!” If so, then what’s the point? How can you not want anything? No one, save the buddha, is that zen.

Every year, shortly after Thanksgiving, I make a list of all the people I want to get gifts for. And from that moment until the last ribbon is torn away, I exist in a state of nervous tension, worried I will forget someone. Or worse, I will give someone a gift and see in the eyes that they think hide behind their fake smile that the gift has, on some level, failed. That, I thereby, have failed, am a failure, on some level.

I know this isn’t very Christmasy, and it’s really more of rant than a story, and don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate Christmas. I love the notion, I love my family, I love my friends, I love spending time together and sharing food and music and joy. The whole season could be amazing and fun. Just please! Tell me what you want!