Lo and behold, it's Christmas. Not quite yet, there's still some days to go. But it's December, so Christmas trees are officially allowed to be put up, shops can start playing the same five Christmas carols all day long and the sappy Christmas movies are actually appropriate. Sounds like a wonderful time of year really, ha. Of course, it's also the time where charities decide to get people in on the Christmas spirit; donate to those in need, let the people who don't get any presents get one, all that stuff. And they say Christmas isn't about the presents. It's about the people right; the family that you only ever see on that one day, and the neighbours who you don't really know but still find yourself at their Christmas party each year. Even advertising is in on the people thing; if you really care about them, get them this sixteen carat gold necklace with a million dollars of jewels embedded in it, nothing shows you care more than that. It's a bit hypocritical really. Christmas is meant to be about the people, and you show that you care about them by buying presents, which Christmas isn't meant to be about. Oh I can hear you shouting, no no Christmas isn't really like that, but think about it, really think. If it's not obvious by now, I'm a bit of a sceptic about the whole Christmas jazz. It just ain't fun spending all this money when really all you should need to show someone you care is a hug. And what's the whole Santa deal. I mean a fat man in a red suit, aren't we a bit sexist here, what happened to the skinny girl in a skimpy bikini. Christmas is in Summer, it would just be crazy for Santa to be going all around town wearing all that heavy padding. This ain't going to be me all complaining though now, there is a story in this. I'm going to show you how Christmas is everything I say it is, maybe you'll even sign the petition to give it the chop.
It all started in the womb… nah we're not going that far back. I was ten years out of the womb. A cute little boy I was, if I may say so myself. Now it was Winter at this time, so still a good six months or so until Christmas was coming round. Yet me and the boys had fallen into a conversation about what we wanted Santa to bring us. I wanted a scooter, Little Mac wanted a doll; or so we said he did, and James wanted a new pack of action cards. But Billy, oh Billy, he didn't want anything from Santa, because he said Santa was not real. We all fought long and hard with that boy, but no one fought longer and harder than me. If Santa wasn't real, then nothing was. Everything as we knew it would end, first out sanity, then the world. Oh and so I fought.
Yet with every response he shot back at me, I lost one to shoot back at him. I was defeated, deflated, I was wanted to crawl into Santa's sack and die, and I would of, had Santa been real.
It wasn't until Christmas drew round and my Mum asked me what I wanted from Santa. Now I had been planning my response for a good six months, I was on top of it.
"Santa's not really, you really shouldn't believe in him."
And that's when she shot me down.
"Oh I'm glad you don't believe in him anymore hun, you are getting too old."
I had wanted her to tell me he was real, to not listen to the other boys, to reassure me he was going to bring round presents. But she didn't. I was crushed.
I accepted my Christmas presents contentedly that year, but it didn't have the jazz. I knew the toys were just bought in a plain old boring store and not made by an elf in the North Pole. I knew Santa hadn't quietly slipped through the house and put presents under the tree.
I was ten, when the appeal of presents just didn't cut it for me anymore. I enjoyed playing cricket in the backyard more than the scooter I rode down the street.
For all the years that came, presents were worse and worse. I didn't care if I got a pen or the world. I made sure with every present I gave it came with a card and a hug, just to really show I cared.
The more time passed, the more I came to see between the slips of truth of all Christmas things; the songs, the movies, the presents and Santa.
All the songs encourage reindeers with red noses, and the movies end up with everyone getting married instead of giving presents. Yet in reality, that ain't how it is at all. Christmas is stressful, costs a bucket and for what? So you can spend one day with all those cousins and second aunts playing cricket in the backyard which you can get done with a few phone calls any day of the year.
You don't need presents, or bells, or Santa. You just need people. But tell that to the big advertising companies, they'll shoot you back an ad with the million dollar jewels; remember just to show you really care.
Maybe I'll boycott Christmas, take it all the way to the real equivalent of Santa. There'll be some big joe in some office I'm sure we can take this to. But I want Christmas my way. I want no presents and the skinny girl in the skimpy outfit. So who's with with me? Aye!
Let's start a petition, and maybe next year, we'll get Christmas my way.
Christmas Boycott Petition
(sign name here- especially if you want the skinny girl in the skimpy outfit, cause really, what else does one need around Christmas?)