I Hate Christmas

Hi I’m Daria and I hate Christmas.

Well, hate isn’t really quite the right word. Disdain… defy… dread… those probably would work better than hate. But to simplify when it comes to the three major holidays all smack dab close together from November to January, It’s easiest to say I hate Christmas.

 I didn’t hate Christmas as a kid. I mean I was always excited to help my mom decorate our tiny tree that was as big as I was and setting up the little winter wonderland landscape that my mom’s teddy bears occupied beneath it. We would listen to the forgotten carols and take tours of the lights at temple square because it was literally a block away.

However, I do remember a few things that never quite made sense. My mom didn’t like the season at all. I mean, we only put up the tree the week of Christmas at the earliest, and on Christmas Eve at the latest. Mom still tried her best, but me being the oldest child I just always knew that there was something off with mom during the holiday season.

Christmas morning was probably the best part of the year- because it was presents and parents smiling and my sisters and I getting along for a good hour. But after everything was unwrapped and my sisters and I acting like kids and playing with our new toys, the strangest thing would occur- my dad would be angry. How could my dad be angry when I gave him something I painted, glued, and put together myself just for him? How could my dad be angry when none of us showed disappointment at our gifts? We were always grateful, we remembered to say thank you. Why was he so mad?

Even as a young kid, I knew that my family and I were poor. My parents both worked two jobs for a while. Then mom stayed home. Then dad lost his job because of health issues. We moved several times. It was my grandparents who took me and my sisters school clothes shopping. It was my aunts who gave us school supplies for my birthday, which is in late August. I knew we didn’t have much and I was always so excited to see the actual brand new things that came on the day all about presents.

As a teenager, I finally got to see more and more of the reality of our situation. So I did my best to not add to the stress of pleasing me with gifts. One year all I wanted was a whiteboard and notebooks in hopes that they could spend more on my siblings. I thought that maybe if I did the decorating, so mom didn’t have to help. If I made or bought presents for everyone then maybe that year’s Christmas would be different. I’d lock myself in my room and blast Christmas music hoping that I could give fill my gifts with the magic they promised was in the year- the power of love and cheer and family time. But the outcome was always the same. Mom was off and dad would get angry after all the presents were unwrapped.

When the next signs of Christmas season were springing up in October I would cringe. I thought people were sick for even mentioning the holiday. When I went into stores in early November and they’d be playing Christmas music it would make me cringe and turn into a Grinch. At that point, Christmas felt like one big lie to me. The season of “giving” and “good will towards men” just seemed so fake and unrealistic. Wanting to celebrate it for any longer than the day itself just sounded cheap. Where was the Christ in Christmas? I didn’t see it. All I saw were bright colored lights, the need for presents, and the echo of “most wonderful time of the year” haunting me everywhere I went.

I learned in my final year of high school why my dad was always angry on Christmas- because he felt lacking. That he wished he could give us more because most of our presents came from secret Santas and family members.

As an adult, I can understand that. But as a teen I thought it was ridiculous. Couldn’t he just be happy with the fact that we even got presents and liked them? Couldn’t he just laugh with the rest of us when someone continued to designate presents for Andrea (which is the middle name of my youngest sister)? Couldn’t he just let go of his macho “I need to provide everything” pride and just see that all we really wanted was for him to relax and enjoy the day with us?

It wasn’t until this year when my mom finally told me why she didn’t like Christmas, or her birthday for that matter. To be honest, if I had been treated like she had been when she was young, I’d hate really hate Christmas and my birthday too. I don’t blame her at all for not enjoying the season. Childhood memories and pain are hard things to overcome.

For me, I still associate Christmas with an emotionally off mother and an angry dad. To this day I still can’t stand Christmas music because to me, the music of the season is what brings on the memories and the “fakeness” more than anything else- be it carols, hymns, or jingles. When my neighbors started blasting their Christmas music this year on November first, I simply blasted my dance party music. Thank you, Oingo Boingo for “Dead Man’s Party”.

I respect others and their need to celebrate a holiday that brings them joy. They have not been through my experiences. Lucky for me, I can hide their facebook posts about trees, Santa, elf on the shelf, and other Christmas paraphernalia. Lucky for me, I’m in a home of my own with a husband who understands why I feel the way I do about Christmas. He totally supports me and my strange ideas about how I want to celebrate it as a family, especially with our little one who is due in January.  

So in the end… do I hate Christmas, celebrating the day of Christ’s birth? No. Because I’m a Christian and his birth is an important part of his role in my life.

I hate the American Christmas culture- that’s where I’m the Grinch, the Scrooge, the full on hater. Let all the lights, gift wrap, and song medleys flee far from me! I am a woman who would like to simply enjoy December for what it is, a month of snow that makes the mountains look pretty, a time to snuggle with my warm hubby and enjoy hot chocolate, and the wonderful peace of mind knowing that the school semester is almost over.

So if I’m the off one during the season, that’s why. It’s my own childhood problem to work through and nothing more. I didn’t write this to receive pity or apologies. I wrote this in order for me to really identify why I feel the way I feel, to come to terms with my view of such an important holiday within my life.  This is my chance to find clarity so I can find joy in the years to come, instead of letting it me grow bitterer every year and eventually becoming the female Scrooge. That would be an interesting story though… now I’ve got a short story idea too. Hey look, something positive already.