Christmas and I have some bad blood. No, I don’t hate baby Jesus, or harbor a contempt for Christians. Indeed, I consider myself to be a follower of Christ-like principals. As a self-described anarchist, loving people and doing no harm fits right in at my home.
Growing up as a child in a middle-class home where my dad worked 12-hour days and my mom clipped coupons, I remember all the great things about Christmas. Stockings full of toys hanging over the fireplace, waking up in the morning to presents under the tree followed by a large family gathering later that afternoon. I never received the big gifts some of my friends did, but I was still happy, receiving more than enough, as well as the occasional video game for my Nintendo.
It wasn’t until after my parents were divorced that Christmas and I had a falling out, to the point where as an adult, I didn’t buy a tree until my oldest child turned 5 (last year). Even then, it was in protest.
At 12 years of age, I watched as my mother struggle to buy gifts. After the divorce, my mom lived in a mobile home in Southern California, and every year, I watched her do everything she could to live up to the idea of a “middle-class” Christmas. It wasn’t until then that I realized the damage being done to the poor and lower middle classes during this holiday. The irony, of course, is that the historical Jesus was a man who sought to help the poor, so it was frustrating that the holiday designated to celebrate his birth had become an absolute nightmare to anyone who wasn’t either rich or middle-class.