Merry Consumerist Orgy!

Let me preface this inevitable searching for the higher meaning of Christmas post by saying that I am not a Christian. At best, my faith system is based on a hypocritical melange of Buddhism, asceticism, hedonism, bushido and the balanced employ of controlled, and sometimes illicit, substances. But recently, the realization that my daughter is old enough to get the Santa thing has cross-checked me from behind into a bloody uncomfortable philosophical corner.

I probably grew up like most of you: Each December, I would spend hours feverishly scanning the Consumers Distributing catalogue for what I wanted for Christmas. I'd carefully circle the things I yearned for, along with the things I thought I had a reasonable shot at actually receiving. On Christmas morning though, I would be absolutely thrilled with whatever I got, because, even though I came from a struggling one-parent family, my Mother would always sacrifice enough to make sure we had something we loved.

Over the past 10 years though, I have become overcome by cynicism about the disgusting consumerist orgy that occurs from September onward. In fact, I despise it. It violates serious intellectual and spiritual principles that I hold sacrosanct in my head and heart. Not to mention the trifling fact that there is absolutely no religious reason for me to celebrate the holiday. Of course, we still put up a tree and decorations, which makes absolutely no logical sense, except that I guess it fills some traditional gap that would be empty if we didn't. I mean, I love the pretty glittery things, but Jesus ain't exactly my homeboy. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

Enter Li'l Miss Kay-Dough. I don't know what to do with her. She had already been exposed to images of Santa through our broader culture before I even had a chance to formulate some plan of dealing with my own confusing X-Mas hypocrisy. Santa is already a cultural legend to her. I'm not stupid. I know she will grow up expecting luxuries to be bestowed upon her like every other kid. And I really don't want to deny her that childish wonderment because of my own heady, abstract beliefs. Thus, my brain is becoming cobwebbed with heart strings.

I look around me and wonder "when did conspicuous, unsustainable consumption become a suitable substitute for compassion and love?" What the fuck is wrong with us? Why do people contract out caregiving for their kids, just to work all year to buy them Playstations as proof of love? Not to mention the fact that people stress themselves out to a ridiculous point at Christmas. People dread driving all over the place; they dread placating demands for their time put on them by increasingly complex and divided families- thanks to the miracle of divorce; they dread shopping before and the drowning tide of bills after Christmas. I just don't get it. Hey- it just occurred to me: Maybe it's the people I don't like, not Christmas.

Anyway, back to Li'l Miss Kay-Dough. As she grows up, she will be distracted by superficial shiny things too. She will be fallible, greedy, self-centred and fuck people around like we all do. I guess all I can do in the mean time is resolve to make sure that I teach her right and wrong and instil a sense of the true meaning of family, friends and love. In the end, if all we have is breaking bread, drinking, laughing and caring we have all we need. Actually, that is what I teach her every day. Why should Christmas be any different?