Heard that song on the radio lately? American culture seems to mandate that we all become extras in Capra's "It's A Wonderful Life" for at least three or four days every year around Christmas. I think it's a great idea, but our society (and our consumer culture) has taken the concept a tad too seriously. It's almost as if we arbitrarily "freeze" all of our concerns and stresses for these holidays and force ourselves into this mystical "Donna Reed" meets "Father knows best" stage production. No wonder people flip out, get depressed and restart old family warfare during this time. (You will recognize the aforementioned TV shows if you are over 50. If you are not, ask your parents or older friends to explain "Donna Reed" and "Father knows best". Their responses might open another whole avenue of debate and conversation.)
Anyway, don't get me wrong. I'm not Scrooge. In fact I was the dreamiest romantic kid you could have met in the 50's and early 60's. Mom decorated the WHOLE house, sent out 200 Christmas cards (Seeing Mom pull out the name and address lists right after Thanksgiving was a sure sign Santa was on his way.) My brother and I tore up the Sears catalog circling stuff we wanted Santa to bring. Ahhh, the orange candle glow in the bedroom window at night, Johnny Mathis on the stereo with the big glowing tubes in the den, the smell of the Christmas tree, seeing Christmas cards all over the mantel (and the wall) as they came in everyday, all the Christmas specials on TV (Perry Como, Andy Williams). It seems so long ago.
What happened? I grew up, got married, had children, got heavier, grayer, smiled less, made more decisions, lost more friends, moved, dealt with my parents and relatives in new and frightening ways, and realized how lucky I was to have had that childhood. It will never return, and in many ways it never existed. (Don't forget: while I was dreaming under the Christmas tree in the 50's and 60's we went through Korea, Selma, Kennedy's death (both of them), King's death, the beginning of Vietnam, Kruschev, The Cold War, and the Nuclear threat.) Listen to the lyrics of Billy Joel's "We didn't start the fire" sometime.
If you are an adult, Christmas is bittersweet. Emotionally, the decorations, the music and the lights all touch the memories of childhood. Then life was school and home. Pretty simple. Home was it, the center, and the core. If you grew up in suburban America, as I did, each house was its own little center of the universe. Mom was always there, no one worked Saturdays, and nothing (other than church, a gas station, and a pharmacy) was even open on Sundays. Dad came home every night, about the same time, and we had supper. We had one car, and in the early years, the phone weighed 60 pounds, and was a party line. (Ask your folks about that one, too.) Maybe I did grow up in fantasyland, but it was great.
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