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Son’s love of Christmas is warming the heart of this Grinch
(by Kara Krekeler - December 23, 2009)
Christmas is almost here, and for the first time in years, I’m not completely dreading it.
Oh, I know that I wasn’t alone in my holiday anxiety — with shopping, loads of holiday parties and family to deal with, everyone experiences a degree of stress at Christmas. But I hated Christmas with a passion most people reserve for sewer system backups or IRS audits.
My first real job in high school was working at a Hallmark. On my first day, I decorated a Christmas tree. In August. There are only so many times a person can hear the same 12 Christmas songs plunked out on a piano while decorating yet another themed Christmas tree — with garland, lights and at least four ornaments to each branch, per my Christmas-crazy boss’s instructions — before their well of Christmas spirit completely dries up. Mine made it until maybe mid-September.
For years, I’ve avoided Christmas music and resisted putting up the tree until the last possible minute. Aside from really enjoying wrapping presents (even I can’t explain that one), I’ve basically been a dedicated member of Team Grinch since I was 16.
But this year is different. This year, my husband and I put up our Christmas tree the Sunday after Thanksgiving. I’ve watched multiple TV specials and made cookies to give to our neighbors this year. Heck, I’m even listening to Christmas music as I write this column.
So what caused this about-face? Easy. Logan, my 15-month-old son, who is just chock full of holiday spirit.
As soon as Logan gets out of bed in the morning, he runs into the living room to show us the tree and stockings. He walks around the room saying “ho ho ho” while shaking his belly just like Santa, and every evening proudly points out the neighbor’s Christmas lights, of which just two bulbs blink randomly.
Last weekend, we formally introduced Logan to one of our time-honored holiday traditions of driving around St. Louis in search of over-the-top Christmas-light displays to make fun of. We even taught him how to say “tacky” for the occasion.
While we were certainly able to put Logan’s new word to good use several times over the course of the evening — one place had nine inflatable lawn ornaments crammed into a tiny front yard and almost completely obscuring the house — my husband and I came to the uncomfortable realization that our days of minimal Christmas decorations are numbered. Logan’s eyes lit up at just about everything he could see from his carseat, and before long he’ll figure out how to demand blinking lights on his house too.
I’m not sure how excited I am to be faced with this transition. I’ve grown accustomed to being a Grinch, and no matter what Dr. Seuss tells us, suddenly switching gears from a holiday hater to a Christmas-lover who cuts the roast beast for the whole of Whoville isn’t such a simple transition. Things were easier when I didn’t care as much, when I could sit on the sidelines and cringe or heckle as needed.
I can’t do that with Logan. I can’t raise him to be a Grinch from the outset. As a kid, I loved making cookies, decorating the tree and watching A Christmas Story every year. He too needs to grow his own holiday spirit as a child; his own teenage retail experience can crush it later on.
But at least I can still cling to a bit of my old Christmas cynicism — yes, I’ve been playing holiday music in the house this year, but at least it’s been my kind of Christmas music, with songs like “Santa Left a Booger in My Stocking.”
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