"It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year..."

I’ve never been one for Black Friday shopping. A mild case of agoraphobia is just another one of my many “quirks” that make me a complete joy to be around (while having absolutely no influence on my relationship status). If I wanted to participate in Black Friday deals, I would need to first drink about 30 glasses of egg-nog chased by a vat of peach schnapps. (And even that wouldn’t be effective because then I would end up getting sentimental with my fellow shoppers which would make me feel vulnerable and therefore I would eventually become belligerent when they didn’t reciprocate or emote with me. This is almost always followed by a tearful, melodramatic, and often physical apology to my victims). So, in short, if I was to go Black Friday shopping, there is a good chance I would end up on the news or in the emergency room. If I had a bucket-list (and I don’t, yet) Black Friday Shopping wouldn’t be on it, so, I simply don’t go.

But today, the Saturday after Thanksgiving, as I was leaving my dad’s house after my 3rd consecutive day of marathon eating, visiting, hugging, football watching, board-game playing bliss, I realized I needed a new pair of running tights. After shoveling in three 2,500+ calorie meals within a 72 hour period, I was already planning my work-out schedule for the next month, and I knew my skimpy running shorts just weren’t going to cut it in December (global warming or not). I decided to risk it and stop by Target. I thought to myself, surely the crowds won’t be too bad. All the crazy people (no offense Black Friday Shopping Friends…remember I’m neurotic) will be at home nursing their Day-After-Thanksgiving-Shopping-Lag, eating leftovers, and wrapping presents. But apparently I was the only person in the greater High Point area that wasn’t aware of Target’s 2 day sale that would be over in a few short hours…

I had just watched The Karate Kid 2,239,894 (the new one with Will Smith’s kid in it) the day before at my mom’s house, so I was feeling inspired. I decided to face my fears, suck it up, and buy myself some effing running tights. I wasn’t going to let a crowd of rabid bargain shoppers bring me down!

Since the running tights at Target aren’t in the electronics or toy department, there wasn’t a huge crowd around them and I got in and out pretty quickly. But as I was walking through the store I was struck by something that hits me every single holiday season. (What can I say? I’m a sucker for a blatant contradiction).

I was walking up to the register, humming along to the soft Christmas music playing overhead, when I noticed a tired mother pushing a buggy with her daughter in it towards the exit. I kept my distance because her daughter was wailing; she had reached that point of crying where it almost seemed like she could throw up at any moment. Her mother was cooing and saying “Shhhh,” in a soothing voice. But when the little girl’s screams went up an entire octave, the mother stopped the buggy and went completely postal on her kid. For a second, I thought the mom might be a Gremlin and that the kid had accidentally spilled some apple juice on her from her sippy-cup, but no. The change was entirely natural…and terrifying.

“If you mention that stupid stuffed animal one more time, I’m going to wear your ass out! Do you understand me? I’ll tell Santa he doesn’t need to stop at our house this year. I’ll tell him that we moved to an address that doesn’t even exist, so he won’t be able to bring presents even if he wants to!”

And that was it. In the midst of her meltdown, Mom had pulled out the holiday kid kryptonite. The little girl swallowed her sobs (not entirely sure this is safe) and there was an eerie quiet near the snack bar of Target. This terrified child considered one of the darkest possibilities for her little four year old future, scarier than the most enriched uranium ever found in North Korea: the thought of a Christmas without presents. She was having a staring contest with her mom who appeared to be saying “I wish your father and I had just watched The Bourne Identity On Demand the night you were conceived.” And all the while, Andy Williams crooning in the background…

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year…with the kids jingle-belling and everyone telling you ‘be of good cheer…’ it’s the hap-happiest season of all…”

This strange juxtaposition between joy and misery, nostalgia and wretchedness, charity and cruelty was complete and highlighted by the Christmas carols overhead. And it reminded me of the contradiction that exists during every holiday season.

People, adults, have wrestled to the floor over a Tickle-Me-Elmo, Furbie, or Optimus Prime action figure while wearing a holiday-themed sweatshirt accentuated with puffy paint. Someone is trampled at the entrance of Wal-Mart during Black Friday madness underneath a glittery cardboard cut-out of Santa’s Sleigh. A man driving a car with felt reindeer antlers stuck to the front windows and a Rudolph nose lodged into his grill cusses out another driver over a parking spot…

The holidays are supposed to be a time of togetherness, of having all the people that you wouldn’t want to live without under the same roof. It’s about warmth and comfort and “good cheer” and happiness. But it quickly becomes something else entirely when the pressure of presents and perfection take over. Sometimes the expectations of making a holiday larger than life seem to make people forget what the holiday itself is about. They are eaten up with expectations and stress and begin to resent the people that they care the most about. Suddenly, people are cursing and spitting into a fruit-cake batter, carving a turkey with a little too much force, curling ribbons until they are tiny ruined shreds. And all in the name of Holiday Cheer!

I think this holiday season I’m going to try especially hard to focus on what really matters. As much as I love a good paradox, I don’t want to be a part of one. Especially not if it involves Andy Williams, Bing Crosby, or Danny Kaye.