Well, here it is, another year has gone by and Christmas is upon us.
As a columnist, I am almost required to write a Christmas column. It’s a time when media types search out stories of uplift to make us believe that the world is a different place at this time of the year.
The pressure is really on. Will such a story fall into my lap? Will Donald Trump find out that money is the root of all evil? Will a Palestinian suicide bomber pass up the chance at 72 virgins and decide not to blow himself up for the holidays? Will Jessica Simpson refuse to bare her breasts to sell her new Christmas CD because the little drummer boy might then never be the same?
Alas, no such stories exist at the moment, although given the recent tendencies of the media, I could make one up. Whom would it hurt?
Myths abound at Christmas. I don’t know who came up with the one about Santa landing on your roof with his sleigh and reindeer, but do we mean that literally? If he lands on my roof, he’d better be ready to call John Nocella to put a new one up for me.
And don’t be offended, but the Three Wise Men finding the right stable without the use of MapQuest also strains belief for some of us. So what is a broken-down hack of a columnist to do?
One of my options would be to write a new Christmas song. Heaven knows we need one. If some radio stations are going to start playing Christmas music in early November, we cannot have enough Christmas songs.
But writing a Christmas song poses another kind of dilemma. I can’t write about the joy of snow because in truth I hate the stuff. I’m a little old to be writing about Santa, who it seems to me long ago traded his innocence in a corporate deal. A whole host of children has grown up believing that Santa is a trademark of Macy’s.
It’s been a long time since anyone wrote a new religious song about Christmas, but I hardly feel qualified. And besides, it would be too easy to offend someone. It is practically impossible to write about the subject of religion without calling down upon your head the wrath of the American Civil Liberties Union or the Christian Council of Churches.
The same goes for trying to write lyrics about Christmas with a humorous twist. For every person like me who laughs uproariously at Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer or the ode to dysfunctional families, Merry Christmas from the Family, there’s someone criticizing us as anti-Christmas.
Plus, Christmas has gotten all tangled up in the Red State, Blue State thing. Bill O’Reilly is all riled up over the use of "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas." He’s not alone. Red State Christian church leaders are calling for a boycott against any store that uses "holiday" instead of "Christmas" in its advertising. O’Reilly reportedly told a Jewish caller recently that if he objected, maybe he ought to go to Israel.
To the victors go the spoils in politics and, with the Christians flexing their muscles at the polls to reelect George W. Bush, I guess it’s only right that they be rewarded with ownership of Christmas, since they already own God and the flag. For those of us not eligible for Israeli citizenship, there’s always Canada, which Republicans now consider one of the Blue States or maybe even as bad as France.
I thought maybe I could look to the Red States, where religion and Christmas seem more important than in the rest of the country, for an uplifting story. The main things preoccupying the Red States right now, according to the latest polling data, are keeping gays from getting married and curtailing the civil liberties of Muslim Americans. This is not exactly the kind of thing I envisioned as part of the theme "peace on earth and goodwill toward men," although there are admittedly exceptions to every rule.
Let’s face it, you can justify leaving out the Muslims since Christmas isn’t their thing anyway, and that will reduce the need to use the politically correct "Happy Holidays," which will make Bill O’Reilly happier than a guy with a vibrator on the phone with a chick employee. Leaving out gays might be a little tough because the decorations would not be as chic.
You know what — if it’s the same to you, I think I’ll skip the Christmas column this year.
