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Nathaniel
Shockey
Read Nathaniel's bio and previous columns
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December 3, 2007
Christ Wasn’t Born on
December 25, Because I Have to Get My Tree Now
At this point, most historians agree that the Virgin Mary went into
labor on December 24, 1 B.C., and Jesus was born the following day. Six
days later, the local mad scientist said to himself, “Holy Crap! It’s no
longer B.C!” at which point he reminded the local government to reset
their calendars to 0 A.D.
Almost 2,008 years later, we still remember December 25 as the day Jesus
was born, and January 1 as the day everyone else was brought up to
speed.
But what I’m starting to realize is that, although all scientific
evidence apparently points to Christmas happening on the 25th of
December, Christmas has, for the last few years, consistently fallen
closer to the beginning of the month. Let me explain.
At the beginning of December, my wife and I bundle up to go buy a
Christmas tree at a local Christmas tree lot. After selecting a tree, we
usually realize we didn’t bring any rope, at which point we begin to
wander around, hoping someone will offer to help us. When we get home,
we set up the tree (lean it against the corner of the living room),
adorn it with lights, and get cozy by the fireplace (on DVD, which we
purchased last year for $7 plus shipping). This is, without question,
the highlight of the season. It’s pretty much downhill from there.
We begin to deliberate/agonize over how we should spend the time between
Christmas and New Years, or as I sometimes call it, Death Valley.
Initially, we present our opening statements concerning whose family we
love more, whose family loves us more, and whose family’s feelings would
be most hurt by our absence at 9 a.m., Christmas morning. There really
is no way to figure out this particular dilemma without actually asking
our families how many presents they plan on getting us, which wouldn’t
be right. So we generally resolve, at least for a few days, to not only
stay home for the holidays, but also to never leave the house again.
A
week or so later, we remember that there are about 462 people for whom
we need to buy Christmas presents, unless we don’t mind feeling guilty
for the rest of the Christmas season. So we go shopping, which I
absolutely adore. It’s a friendly reminder that I really don’t know
anyone very well at all. Would cousin Joey wear a scarf from the Gap?
Does Grandma still denounce “playing cards”? About two days and three
months’ salary later, we agree that we never really liked that
particular aunt and uncle anyway, and did they even send us a wedding
present? And by the way, since when does it cost $25 to mail a stuffed
animal the size of a hamster?
About halfway through December, my inner “request time off from work or
start looking for another job” alarm clock goes off – just another
highlight of the season.
This would be the ideal time to restore a relationship with two,
faithful, Christmas companions – egg nog and brandy. It’s a special
Christmas gift to help get us through the rough patches.
By the time the 25th rolls around, many of us have already
run out of steam. I can’t help but wonder if the hazards of Death Valley
are some sort of punishment for the six days it took everyone to realize
that it’s time to switch the clocks from B.C to A.D., and that even now,
over 2,000 years later, we’re still suffering the consequences.
Or maybe, just maybe, Christmas really falls somewhere around December
3, which just so happens to be the day when my wife and I will be
venturing out to get our tree this year. After all, it is the best part
of the month, and even scientists are wrong once in a while.
© 2007
North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.
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