This is a story (braided essay, really) that I wrote for a writing class I was teaching. I had a student who raised the question in class why you couldn't mix creative writing with research. It really got me thinking, and I turned to the braided essay as a possibility of bringing the two together. For a final project, I invited some of my students to try out a braided essay format. I joined with them as a way to guide them along, and ended up with this:
_____________________________________________________________
My Grandpa Burr was an interesting man. He was tall and thin, clean shaven and bald. He wore plaid shirts tucked into his jeans, and had big glasses--all characteristics of a typical grandpa. He gave big, wet kisses on our cheeks. My other grandpa didn't do that. Grandpa Henrie would grip my hand super-tight as he shook it, squeezing until I cried out.
When I was seventeen, my parents bought a ten-year-old, blue little Honda for my sister and I to use. We would sometimes drive over to my grandparents house, only a few blocks from ours, and stop and say hello. Grandpa Burr didn't talk much, which made it awkward when Grandma wasn't there. Instead of talking, Grandpa would go out to our car, pull a tire-pressure gauge from his pocket and check all our tires. He'd lift the hood, look over the engine, and check the oil level. He had a paper towel in his back pocket to wipe the oil dip-stick on. He was always prepared to do this every time we came over, as if he'd been waiting for us. Then he would have us drive him over in our car to Holiday, a gas station by the post office, to fill up on gas. He insisted that Holiday had the best quality gas in town. We told him he didn't have to, but he never let us reject the offer.
***
I remember when I first grew cynical about Christmas.
It was November 1st. I was on my lunch break. I decided to go to Subway just down the street for a sandwich. I walked in the door, and a little bell rang to announce my arrival. The scent of baking bread welcomed me in, followed by the smell of deli meats: salami, ham, turkey, and chicken. The next thing to hit my senses rang the wrong bell: Andy Williams singing "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year." I paused, wondering if I was dreaming, or had amnesia and missed the fact that we had Thanksgiving.
I stepped up to the counter. A young woman with a black hat on her blond head and plastic gloves on her hands smiled and asked for my order.
"Is that really Christmas music?"
Her smile faded and her cheeks blushed. "They give us the music that we play here in the restaurant."
"Oh," was all I said. I ordered the Spicy Italian BMT on white. I paid for my order next to a new advertisement on using Subway gift cards as stocking stuffers.
As I walked back to work, thoughts came to my head for a great poem. It started by mixing "T'was the Night Before Christmas" with Halloween. Costumes on the floor, kids dreaming of candy, department and grocery stores putting up Christmas decorations in the middle of the night to the surprise of all. When I returned to the copy shop, I quickly grabbed a paper and pen, jotting down the ideas. Then I thought of people growing sick of the sales, the music. Maybe Santa Claus showing up a month early on accident. Then I snickered--the best thought of all! Some dad just losing it on Christmas Eve: tearing down the lights and decorations, smashing the radio, burning the Christmas tree! And then the last two stanzas came:
And finally worn out, he shouted, “That’s it!”
“Christmas morning we’ll sleep in and just sit
On the couch until the day’s through,
And after that, I don’t know what we’ll do;
Clean up, I guess.” And the children trudged off to bed
And had visions of daddy shooting the sugar plum fairies dead.
And some homes still had Christmas, but swore to remember
To never start Christmas on the first of November.
***
The commercialization of Christmas is not something recent, but something that has been taking place for well over a century. In an 1832 New York newspaper, one person wrote:
"Christmas eve, in the city of New-York, exhibits a spectacle, which, to a stranger, must be highly pleasing and effective. Whole rows of confectionery stores and toy shops, fancifully, and often splendidly, decorated with festoons of bright silk drapery, interspersed with flowers and evergreens, are brilliantly illuminated with gas-lights, arranged in every shape and figure that fancy can devise. During the evening, until midnight, these places are crowded with visitors of both sexes and all ages; others merely lounging from shop to shop to enjoy the varied scene."1
Schmidt, a Harvard professor of History and Religion, marked the rise of commercial products tailored for specific holidays, especially Christmas, since the 1800’s. He also explored the religious reactions to the commercialization of the Christmas holiday, noting the very mixed reactions. Some, especially the Puritans, were antagonistic towards festivities of any kind, and outlawed any celebrating of Christmas. Other religions found Christmas as an opportunity to share the message of Christ with those caught up in the spirit of the holiday. In fact, Schmidt has noted that religion is discussed significantly more at Christmas time than at any other time in the year.2
Slowly, however, the religious symbols of Christmas, particularly the Nativity, have either been replaced or outlawed from public expression. Many have noted a change in the spirit of the holidays. A Pew poll in 2005 noted that “about half of Americans say they are bothered by the commercialization of Christmas.” The Pew poll also noted, however, that “most Americans are not highly concerned about the matter” (Allen 16).3
While the attitude towards the meaning of the holiday is mixed, Schmidt comments on the possible affect of the holiday trend:
"The machinations of the marketplace are seen as subverting free participation in the effervescence of the festival; manipulation and obligation displace spontaneity and sincerity. Both the profit-making of merchants and the gift-seeking of individuals are viewed as supplanting community celebration; the integrative, unifying powers of festivity are lost amid the impersonal world of malls and the private dreams of consumers."4
***
Grandpa complained about his feet always being cold and hurting. When we'd go to visit, he'd rub lotion on his feet and then tuck them under an electric heating pad. The doctors told him to stop the practice because it was causing infection in his feet. Every so often, Grandpa would go to the hospital for surgery to remove an infected toe, but he insisted on the pad and the lotion.
About the same time, my grandma had hired me to mow their lawn. Grandpa used to do it, but his feet and back were getting too bad. I think he'd still do it if Grandma didn't stop him. Instead, Grandpa would go out and fill the lawn mower with gas and clean off all the old grass clippings. It was an old mower, and he made it work for a long time.
Most edges of the yard met a cement foundation and chain-link fence. In some places, the ground was much higher than the foundation. Grandpa would lay down two-by-fours on the cement, giving a more level track for the wheels of the lawn mower. That way the blades wouldn't chop down the grass to the roots in the sunken spots of the foundation. Those two-by-fours got annoying to me, however. It was easy to knock the boards out of place. I'd have to stop mowing, replace the board and try to approach it more carefully the next time.
There were many weeks that I would come to mow and somehow Grandpa had snuck out of Grandma's supervision and had mowed all the edges of the lawn. It could have been that he thought I wasn't doing a good job on the edges, but I believe he did it to make the job easier.
***
My family practiced the ritual of assigning who you bought Christmas gifts for. The rationale for the ritual was to alleviate the financial burden of having to buy Christmas gifts for everyone in the family, while at the same time making it a little more possible to spend more money on the gift. Only the siblings in my family practiced the ritual. My parents gave presents to us all.
My wife, Aubrey, and I were at Sportsman's Warehouse, the fifth store in what was becoming a vain search for a Christmas gift for my brother and his wife, who were our gift-giving assignment for this holiday season. They both loved the outdoors, and we thought Sportsman's would provide something up that alley worthy of a Christmas gift. We wandered up the isles, hoping something would strike our eye. We saw camping chairs, dutch ovens, cooking tables, emergency kits, and flashlights. But what would be the best gift? My concern was that I had no idea what they already owned and what they could use and appreciate.
I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and called my mother, hoping she knew what my brother and his wife both wanted and what they didn't already have. I didn't want to call my brother about it and give it away that I didn't know him well enough now to buy him a thoughtful Christmas gift.
"They did say they wanted a cooking table," my mother suggested.
I strolled to the isle where I last saw cooking tables, Aubrey close behind me. There were several styles--each over our budget.
"What about a dutch oven?" It was something I would appreciate. One dutch oven style fit within our budget, though it was on the small side. My wife gave me the look: dumb choice. I shot her a look in return: you got a better idea?!
"I don't know. Maybe they would like it," my mother answered. She didn't sound encouraging.
I pursed my lips. "Hmmm. Okay...."
"Just do it."
"But what if they already have one?"
"Who knows? Do whatever you want."
I hate that answer sometimes. I looked up at the head mounts on the wall. The antelope looking over our isle didn't seem to have any opinion on the dutch oven idea either. After thanking my mother and hanging up, I strolled to the cheaper isles, hoping something there would pop out at me. Small shovels, water bottles, pocket knives, fold-up cookware, emergency kits.
"This is stupid," I finally said.
"Yep," Aubrey replied.
"Christmas gifts are so forced. It's not even a real gift. I'm just buying them stuff because that's what we do for Christmas."
Aubrey had no answer for that one.
"Hey brother! I got you this cool emergency kit. The three-dollar wrapping paper is almost just as cool. Merry Christmas."
***
“Gift giving is the cement of social relationships,” Komter and Vollebergh declared in a study on the giving of gifts.5 It is how will build and strengthen our bonds between each other.
Komter and Vollebergh wanted to learn more about the affects and practices of gift-giving. They sent out a survey to a random population and received about 500 responses on who people give gifts to and what their feelings are in regards to the gift-giving. Komter and Vollebergh broke the gift-receivers into groups in relation to the gift-giver: children, parents/parents-in-law, extended kin, friends, acquaintances or colleagues, and neighbors. They also separated the responses of feelings associated with the giving of the gift into two categories: feelings of affection or feelings of obligation. From the study, they learned that the greatest affection was felt in the giving to children, parents, and friends, whereas greatest obligation was felt in the giving to extended kin and neighbors. What surprised them, however, was that the feelings of affection were more highly reported in all groups than feelings of obligation.
In the end, Komter and Vollebergh mentioned that measuring the feelings towards gift-giving was complicated, as the open-ended questionnaire may not have been direct enough, and the feelings towards gift-giving is often something many do not reflect on.
***
A little over a week after I got engaged to Aubrey, I received a phone call early in the morning from my mother to tell me that Grandpa had died. It was an unexpected death. My mom kept saying that it was a good thing--that he had been in so much pain.
At his funeral, my mom, her two sisters, and her brother all spoke. They told stories of him taking them to Disneyland as kids, of him sneaking treats and table scraps to our dog when we he thought we weren't looking, of him mowing neighbor's lawns or taking out their trash cans.
My uncle spoke of the humble home where my grandpa came from. His parents herded sheep in central Utah, and they had very little. Grandpa seemed to insist on being able to provide better for his family with the best that he knew how. He worked as a school bus driver. He also took up a job at the post office where he worked a late evening shift, sorting mail. The work gave him arthritis and a sore back. My uncle said that they had to be extra quiet as kids because Grandpa had to sleep during the day. The post office didn't provide much, but it did provide a home, health care, and food. Grandma didn't have to work.
"Though we had little growing up, Dad always found a way to give," he said.
***
Another Halloween was ending. Trick-or-treaters had long since come to our door. Aubrey and I had just finished flipping through a Walter Wick's Eye Spy book. It was the Halloween one, where the book progresses from a spooky city up to a tower in a spooky castle. We found all the cleverly hidden bats, frogs, and keys. Aubrey decided to get ready for bed. She takes longer than I do, so I looked for something else to keep me entertained. Next to the Halloween Eye Spy book on the book shelf was the Christmas one. I pulled it down and thumbed through it. I thought I'd save the actual searching for a date closer to Christmas, but I was curious to see what we had to look forward to. What I hadn't noticed before was the poem "T'was the Night Before Christmas," printed on both ends of the book. Boredom drew me to its words:
His eyes--how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke of it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And then I stopped, the questions jumping out at me: Why were Santa's eyes twinkling? His dimples so merry? And why was his laugh so jolly? Year after year, bringing gifts, doing this work, no mention of him getting anything in return.
***
Of the many influences of our present-day understanding of Santa Claus, Saint Nicholas certainly is a strong influence.
Nicholas had been born into a family of wealth in Patara, a city of ancient Turkey. His parents died when he was young, leaving Nicholas to be raised by his uncle, a local priest. The story goes that Nicholas spent much of his time visiting and helping those in need.
His ordination to the office of bishop is a miraculous one. Myra, a nearby city, was in need of a new bishop. In preparation for the choosing and ordination of a new bishop of Myra, an elder bishop received a revelation that the first person to enter the church should be ordained as the new bishop. The next morning, Nicholas happened to be the one who entered.
A prominent social custom in Nicholas's day was the giving of dowries for a marriage. The dowry was a gift of money, land, clothing, jewels, or servants, and was given by the bride's family. Some say the custom helped unify the marrying families, provide financial support to the new family, or to improve social status.
As legend goes, a father was unable to provide a dowry for his three young daughters. Without this dowry, it was believed that women would not properly marry, and would have to find other means to support themselves should their family be unable to do so. Many of these women turned to prostitution in order to survive.
Nicholas heard of the young girls' plight. Stashing gold in three little purses, he stole away in the darkness of night and slipped the purses through an open window of the family's house. This, and other accounts of giving anonymously to those in need, led to Saint Nicholas being known as the Secret Gift-Giver.6
***
I had a dream. I was with family, though I don't remember seeing exactly who was there. The sky was a soft yellow. The air was warm. Tall branches of trees reached high overhead. For all I know, we were in my grandparents backyard. We all sat at tables, having a family dinner. The only person I knew was there for sure, other than myself, was my grandpa.
What startled me was not that he was standing before me, alive as ever, but that it seemed so right and ordinary that he was alive. He had his typical plaid, button-up shirt tucked into his jeans. He smiled a lot. I knew somehow, in that strange dream-understanding, that we had been talking about Christmas. It must have been about gifts because my grandpa looked down at his feet and said, "It's not plane tickets or anything." My wife and I were planning on visiting her Dad down in Arizona for Christmas, but we had plenty of money for the trip. Grandpa's eyes were distant. He looked ashamed, like he was confessing some dark secret. But then he looked up and turned to me, his eyes bright and friendly, the smile returning to his face.
"But I hope it makes your life better."
Notes
1. Quoted in Schmidt, Leigh Eric. "Christianity In The Marketplace: Christmas And The Consumer Culture." Cross Currents 42.3 (1992): 342. Academic Search Premier. Web. 15 Nov. 2011.
2. Schmidt, Leigh Eric. "Christianity In The Marketplace: Christmas And The Consumer Culture." Cross Currents 42.3 (1992): 342. Academic Search Premier. Web. 15 Nov. 2011. See also Schmidt, Leigh Eric. “The Commercialization of the Calendar: American Holidays and the Culture of Consumption, 1870-1930.” The Journal of American History 78.3 (1991): 887-916. JSTOR.org. Web. 6 Nov. 2011.
3. Allen, Jodie. "Allen: Merry Whatever." U.S. News Digital Weekly 1.49 (2009): 16. Academic Search Premier. Web. 15 Nov. 2011.
4. Schmidt, Leigh Eric. "Christianity In The Marketplace: Christmas And The Consumer Culture." Cross Currents 42.3 (1992): 342. Academic Search Premier. Web. 15 Nov. 2011.
5. Komter, Aafke and Wilma Vollebergh, “Gift Giving and the Emotional Significance of Family and Friends.” Journal of Marriage and Family 59.3 (1997): 747-757. JSTOR.org. Web. 6 Nov. 2011.
6. "St. Nicholas." Encyclopedia of World Biography. 2004. Encyclopedia.com. Web. 7 Nov. 2011. See also: "Saint Nicholas." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. n. d. Wikipedia. Web. 7 Nov. 2011; "Dowry." International Encyclopedia of Marriage and Family. 2003. Encyclopedia.com. Web. 7 Nov. 2011.
No comments:
Post a Comment