Heading a Humbug Off at the Pass

Christmas starts earlier and earlier every year. It seems as if it starts almost immediately after Labor Day. In an effort to combat my Inner Scrooge, I'm re-reading a blog post I made last year in a different forum. I'm going to share it here:

Every year it gets harder and harder for me to get into the Christmas spirit. You'd be hard pressed to find anyone who loves Christmas more than I do. I love the Nativity story, I love going to church for candlelight Christmas Eve services, I love singing Christmas carols, I love decorating the house, and I even love giving gifts. I do not love, however, the mercenary aspects that seem to have overtaken Christmas- like people rushing about seeing how much money they can spend, getting into fistfights over parking places at Target, and stores putting out Christmas decorations immediately after the 4th of July.
I also find myself distracted by worldly things. Like work. Paying bills. Planning for the coming year. I forget, sometimes, where my emphasis ought to be. That Christmas is not about me and my petty concerns. That Christmas is about a child and children. I forget that, "Unless you become like a child you can never enter the Kingdom of Heaven."
My children, Joshua (6) and William (5) are now old enough that they really are getting into Christmas. They've always liked getting presents, but they're now starting to be aware of some of the symbolism. We didn't decorate very much this year and Joshua was sad because his house, "was plain". In my struggles with my inner Scrooge, I forget my obligation to them. To make Christmas special for them so that they will remember it their entire lives. No Christmas can compete with those you had as a child. Nothing in this life will ever outshine the excitement and joy you felt in rushing downstairs on Christmas morning. I want that for Joshua and William.
When I was little, my mother and I lived in Jefferson in an apartment in a grand old house almost exactly half way between the square and Kesler's grocery store. We lived on the south side of Sycamore Street and my Aunt Willie and her family lived across the street. Mr. Medlin lived across the hall and Mrs. Grace Craig lived upstairs. They were sweet old folks whose kids were long since gone and they probably did more to spoil a little boy than bears repeating.
At Christmastime my mother would pull out all the stops. We decorated, we put up the most elaborate trees, we sang, we did almost everything you could imagine. I remember being distraught because our house was heated with gas and the chimney had long since been sealed up for insulation. How was Santa to get into the house to leave the presents? My mother assured me that she would leave to door unlocked so that he could walk right in! Apparently, that satisfied me.
Looking back with an adult's perspective, I can say without shame that we were poor. I always had a roof over my head and food in my belly, but some months, I'm sure that it was only just. I had a lot of health issues as a baby and growing up. I had problems with my lungs and my immune systems and was hospitalized repeatedly until I was up into double digits.
I never came out and asked my mother, but I don't doubt that I would be horrified to know the amounts of money that this cost her. I do remember her saying offhand one time that she had finally finished paying off my doctor's bills when I was in college. My Aunt Willie helped out some and my Uncle Henry did as well, but mostly it was my mother, working three jobs sometimes, who took care of me.
This being said, there was never a lack of presents on Christmas morning. I would get up as soon as I woke up and there would be presents, presents, presents! Two presents that stand out in my memory are the Little Tykes Airport and Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots. I loved both of them. My mother probably borrowed from Peter and begged from Paul to buy all of this stuff for me, but I always had more presents than any one boy needs.
After we opened my presents at my house, we would go across the street to my Aunt Willie's house for breakfast with our extended family. She would've been in the kitchen for hours and there was food, food, and more food. We would have pancakes, eggs, bacon, grits, and freshly baked biscuits. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. After breakfast, we would open even more presents and my cousins and I would spend the rest of the morning playing with all of our wonderful toys.
Later in the afternoon, my mother and I would get into the car and ride over to Beaverdam Baptist Church between Commerce and Carnesville. There we would place a poinsettia on the graves of Coile and Lula Allen, my grandparents, who died before I was even born. I didn't understand it then, but I do now. It's a tradition I hope to continue.
Nothing in my adult life will ever come close to the warmth and affection I have for these memories of my youth and my family as it was. I can only hope to give my children something similar to what I had as a child. I just have to continually remind myself to keep my head when all around me are losing their's and remember that children are the ones who benefit most from Christmas. Not just from presents but from family, tradition, and love.

Merry Christmas! But for Heaven's sake, enjoy Halloween and Thanksgiving first!