I’ve no idea how I could even hope to write a funny and/or
cute article about the holidays today.
Like everybody else in the world, I am at a complete and utter loss to
even put my feelings about what happened two days ago in Newtown, Connecticut
into any sort of rational order, let alone try to reconcile it all and come up
with some sort of logical conclusion about the tragedy. If nobody has Facebooked it to you yet, you
should take a few seconds out and read this article over at The Onion. Whether it’s even comedy is debatable, but
man…talk about the nail hit squarely on the head.
In last year’s holiday run, I posted about a teacher near
where I live who took it upon herself to inform her young pupils that there is no Santa Claus. In light of what
happened on Friday, even debating such a thing seems hopelessly silly; almost
quaint, really. In that post, I posited
that there is nothing wrong with letting young children believe in Santa, that
he is simply a way for developing minds to personify and understand the spirit
of giving and goodwill until they’ve reached a comprehension level where they
no longer need the ideas wrapped up in red.
I think that applies here, too.
I’ve seen a fair amount of discussion of the fact that this
has happened at the holidays, and what Christmas might possibly mean to the
families of Newtown in the wake of this horror.
In some ways, I think that those families need Christmas and Santa now
more than ever. If there is any vestige
of innocence left in any of those poor children, it needs to be respected and
clung to mightily. Christmas is
normal. Santa paying a visit on
Christmas Eve is normal. Normalcy is, in
whatever quantity it’s even possible to create the illusion of, the best
present I could imagine any of these bereaved children receiving this year. Think of it as a re-affirmation of secular
faith, a way to broach the idea that it's still okay to trust other people, and
to believe in the values you’ve always held dear.
As I’ve mentioned elsewhere on this blog, my Rhea is in
graduate school, studying for a dual masters in Early Childhood and Special
Education. As such, I’m sure you can
imagine her reaction. In
moments like this, it’s my job in our never-ending dance to be the calm,
rational one. Without a doubt, this is
the most difficult that role has ever been for me: how, after all, do you remain
rational about a horrifying tragedy that has no sane, lucid explanation? I think I did an alright job; at the very
least, it was the best I could do. You
know the cliché about the man staying stoic and controlled, only to completely
lose his shit once he’s safely alone? I
guess it does actually happen like that every so often. Who knew?
In the midst of consoling Rhea – or at least letting her
talk out what she needed to about it all – I hit on one thing that I think was
completely spot-on, and I’d like to share it with all of you as well. I told Rhea that there were really two
stories here: the one that we’re immediately familiar with, unspeakable in its
horror and darkness. The other story,
the one that we must try to keep near the front of our thoughts even as we’re
deluged with the terrifying and incomprehensible details of the Newtown
massacre, is that more than 99.9 percent of the billions of human beings
currently calling Earth their home agree
with us that what has happened is unspeakable, unacceptable and
unrepeatable. No matter what our other
political and theological differences, we are to a soul united in our abhorrence
of what has happened, and our empathy and sorrow for the victims. If that is not the spirit of Christmas, if it
is not the intangible value system made accessible by the character of Santa
Claus, then I’ve simply no idea what is.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a half-decent night’s
sleep. With any luck, “a good night”
might once again end that wish sooner than later.
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