The plan was to meet Lisa and Jeanne and their two kids at their house around 7:30. We'd pack up, dress warmly, leash up the dog and head to the lake where the Christmas ship would arrive with it's caravan of festive boats. We'd stand by the bonfire, listen to the choir aboard the boat, and feel in a festive spirit despite all the financial doom and gloom of this particular season.
The kids were happy to see us. Beyond happy, really, screaming and running through the house, falling down on occasion in a fit of giggles. To get out the door was a struggle, but once the girls were loaded into the red wagon, the dog on his leash, and our heads covered in warm, woolly hats we headed down the road to the lake. We were dark blobs on an unlit road and as cars passed, we realized we were pretty much invisible. So we popped the wagon onto the adjacent park trail and rattled our way to the shore.
We sang Jingle Bells and tried to remember all the words to Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. When we arrived at the boathouse, where they served stale popcorn and scalding hot cider, I realized we'd entered the circle of family hell -- small children misbehaving, distant fathers and scolding mothers, teenagers standing in tight bunches all talking on their cell phones, and grandparents looking festooned in Santa hats and reindeer earmuffs.
I have never seen myself as a Scrooge, but the festivities of Christmas have never warmed my heart. Sure, I like Christmas lights on a tree and moderately decorated houses and I can even be moved by a well-performed Christmas Carol. What I can't stand are the large crowds, the commercial costumes, and the forced celebration -- the "you WILL enjoy Christmas" spirit that seems to be a part of most holiday celebrations. I mean, think of it: When was standing in a line with a crying, dressed up child waiting to sit on Santa's lap EVER a happy occasion? I have yet to see it.
I shouldn't have been surprised then that last nights Christmas ships were a disappointment. I got past the crowds with their Santa hats and cell phones. I even got past the crying, misbehaving kids. But what really irked me was the arrival of the ship, the center of this whole event, and the choir who performed on the deck of the lit up cruiser.
On the shore stood hundreds of families -- young and old -- waiting to be cheered up by the lights, the ship parade, and the children's choir singing uplifting renditions of Dashing Through the Snow and Let it Snow and Frosty the Snowman. Instead, the choir performed dismal, depressing versions of songs most in the crowd had never heard. Somber and slow, 20 minutes of "entertaining" caused the kids in our entourage to curl up in the wagon and fall into a whining sleep. Even the dog stared at me wondering why the hell we stood by the lake and didn't go for a swim. Other children splashed in the water much to the dismay of their parents and the cell phones were held erect to snap poorly lit pictures of the ship on the water.
I don't want to be a Christmas snob. I really want to enjoy this time of year. I really want to feel the thing everyone swears they feel over the holidays. I wanted to be warmed by the singing last night, inspired by the lights on the water, feel a sense of community while standing on the shore with hopeful, happy people, but last night was anything but inspirational. It was sucked dry of anything warm or festive.
We made our way back to the house when the choir sang their last, dismal song. The girls, both in the wagon, pulled each other's hair, kicked at each other's feet, and whimpered and cried, overtired and perhaps disappointed. I knew how they felt. Earlier in the day, when I picked Ann up from work, I jokingly told her that yes, a week before I turn 50, I think I'd like to be a mother and raise children with her. She laughed and I tried my best to keep a serious face. She didn't buy it for a second.
Later, after we dropped off our friends at their house, the girls more than ready to get dressed for bed, I held Ann's hand on the way back to the car. "Okay, I take it back. I don't want to have kids."
"Whew," she mocked.
"I'm not cut out for it," I said.
"Me either."
Jeanne and Lisa are great parents. They have two great kids. Unfortunately, the world is in a shaky place and I am not brave enough to soothe a child's disappointment with the promises of the world, Christmas expectations chief among them.
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