Open Writing

When I first came to Canada, I remember being asked to organize the office Christmas party in my place of employment. I was quite pleased with my responsibility, and I wanted to make a good impression. I cheerfully collected money from the staff, made the arrangements for food and music, and dragged the artificial Christmas tree from its dusty lair, coaxing some life into it with makeshift ornaments. I enjoyed the prospect of transforming the dull office environment into a lively colorful place, even for a short time.

I was stopped in my tracks when one of my colleagues, Olga, an older woman who had recently emigrated from Europe, glared at me with much anger, when I suggested she give me a hand. I was totally unprepared for her response.

'Christmas,' she almost spat in her harsh clipped accent, 'I want nothing to do with Christmas!'

'Why, what's wrong with Christmas?' I asked with some trepidation.

'If you know what Christmas means to me, you wouldn't even mention the word.' Her voice rang cold and hard.

I took off fast.

But the angry confrontation made a deep impression on me. It dawned on me that not everybody shared the same concept of Christmas.

I realized that something dreadful had happened to Olga, what with the war in Europe and everything. I did not want to know the details. Instead, I started to think about my own perceptions of the holiday, and how they reflected on my early life experiences. And how Christmas actually meant something different to everybody. As a child, I remember the sense of expectation in the air. The looking forward to the end of the school year, and the annual school concert with all that singing and reciting of poetry. I remember the new outfit and the pinch of unbroken leather shoes. Grown-ups seemed kinder at that time of the year. You got away with dawdling over your chores as long as you didn't cause any inconvenience. But there were no toys, nor the expectation of any. There were special meals and treats, and new curtains and a very clean house. And that was fine with me. I never felt deprived or anything.

The religious significance of the holiday was another story. I mouthed the words of the carols (I knew them all by heart), but they made little sense to me. Even with my over-active imagination, I could not conjure up bands of angels, or shepherds in the night, or Baby Jesus in a manger. I responded better to the cool dark mornings and the bright clear days. That was Christmas for me.

Later on in my life in Toronto, I discovered the shopping and the gift giving and the Christmas tree, and although it was a tiring affair, I too, joined in the rituals. But as they took on multicultural dimensions, Christmas celebrations came under scrutiny. Peace and goodwill to all men got entangled in accusations of religious discrimination, and the Christmas tree became the 'holiday tree.' This effort at inclusiveness has caused some hand-wringing at the loss of the perceived universality of the celebration.

I find this quite interesting, since so much of the trappings of the holiday have been borrowed from older non-Christian societies. I wonder what the pagans would say if they heard the wrangling over the 'tree.' It was their idea to bring a green tree into their houses for good luck! Or whether the millions of Christmas lights that flicker all over North America make any difference to the sun's decision to come back to light up the northern skies for another season. And Saint Nicholas, one of the few genuine Christian contributions to the celebration would hardly recognize himself in the roly-poly coke-swigging Santa Claus!

Perhaps if we stop to think that so much of what we believe, our myths and traditions, have come down to us through the ages, and that they continue to evolve as the years go by and the global village expands, we might lay less store in the purity of our cultural beliefs. What would Christmas be like in the future? My guess is that all Christian references will be subsumed by rampant commercialism. And while there would always be Olgas with their memories of pain and violence associated with that time of the year, it would simply be a grand exercise in shopping and fireworks!

© Lytrice Adams

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Lytrice writes for Bonzer magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au