The Canadian Sportsman
Know What I Hate?
Back To Know What I Hate?December 11, 2009
Dust off the ceramic Christmas tree; it's going to be a Mervy Christmas
You may be surprised to hear that I actually like this time of year. I know I don’t come off as real jolly or especially tolerant of other people’s happiness, but there is something about the Christmas season that, for whatever reason, I don’t hate.
Sure, I hate busy stores and cashiers trying to get me to donate an extra dollar to some kind of charity every time I buy something. Why in the name of Christmas would I be shopping at the Dollar Store if I had extra dollars to throw around?
And, I hate how the radio has stopped playing all the Christmas standards, like Andy Williams or Burl Ives in favour of some rattle-and-bang crap that now passes for holiday music. I heard a Celine Dion version of Feliz Navidad the other day. It made my ears bleed. Why do we need a French-Canadian woman singing a dreadful song made famous by a Spanish-speaking man? Where’s Bing Crosby and White Christmas? Is there something wrong with that little gem?
And, I hate the bad weather and the shoveling and the fact that if you forget yourself and accidentally wish someone a ‘Merry Christmas’ instead of something more ‘appropriate’ like ‘Happy Holidays’ you are treated like a three-legged yearling.
Well, I’ve been saying ‘Merry Christmas’ for the last 65 years and I’m not going to stop saying it just because other people want me to. The same goes for sneezing and coughing. I’ve been covering my mouth with my hand for the last 65 years and now, because of the pig flu, I’m supposed to be sneezing on top of my arm or something. Damned if I can remember to sneeze into my damn arm. And besides, I can’t seem to get my handkerchief out of my pocket and draped over my arm in time, any way. It’s a mess and my wife Bernie doesn’t appreciate the extra laundry.
But I will give Christmas this… it brings my kids, Robbie and Beckie, home for a few days. Even though Beckie will probably give me something useless like an MQ3 player and tree-hugging Robbie will try to convince me to get rid of my old Grand Marquis because its emissions are hazardous to the environment, it’s nice having them around.
And once Bernie dusts off the ceramic Christmas tree and starts baking her famous marshmallow squares, it’s impossible not to get into the spirit.
On Christmas Eve, my yuppie next-door neighbour Christopher will invite us all over for gluten-free shortbread and soymilk eggnog and I won’t even complain about it.
Imagine that, it’s a Christmas miracle.
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