[This post has been a long time coming. And is now, I suppose, a bit belated. But perhaps now--when we all turn a hesitant, noncommittal eye toward the new year and its inevitable resolutions--is as appropriate a time as any for some holiday excoriation.]
My last post--though, granted, it was a while ago--was about Thanksgiving. The novel notion of taking one day out of the year to simply give thanks. For what we have. And even, I suggested, to embrace that which we have but rarely acknowledge.
A national day of thanksgiving. A great idea, I said. And I still think so.
A day on which even the Native Americans got along with the Pilgrims (or so says the national myth). A day on which families come together (for better or for worse). A day that we all look forward to (though most of us just for the food).
A day followed by its indebted opposite: Black Friday.
Black Friday!? Is this the day when the Native Americans came back to slaughter the Pilgrims in their tryptophan-induced stupor? Or (heaven forbid) when the Pilgrims slaughtered the noble savages? Or, more likely yet, when the Native Americans succumbed to the blight of the disease-ridden food served by the Pilgrims?
No. no. no. Black Friday, we are told, is merely the day--traditionally, and however morbidly named--on which retail establishments start to turn a profit for the year. The huge number of sales on the day after Thanksgiving here in the kindly old U.S. of A. finally puts stores into "the black" in their accounting manifests.
Now. As a teacher of literature, I ask my students to look for the arc of a story. To look for change in a character, progress or regress. To consider order (or disorder), why one event follows another. To consider whether it has to.
Thanksgiving. Black Friday. National holiday of offering thanks and remembering what we have. Day off from work to kick off the holiday shopping "season" during which we all spend a month on an old white man's lap (metaphorically or not) spouting off lists of what we want, what we want to upgrade, or what we want two more of.
This season is not marked by changing weather or the gradual (but always seemingly sudden) blossoming of flora. This season is kicked off by gluttony and marked by greed. And often sloth. And always envy. And it ends with either wrath or pride (depending on Santa's whim or your parents' bosses' reluctant generosity). And, no doubt, lust is in there somewhere.
Those Catholics were (are?) on to something. And yet. Wait a second. Isn't this holiday season (a quick nod and a shuffle of the feet to you 'War on Christmas' folks on both sides of that aisle) ostensibly a celebration of Christ? I can't seem to recall the Beatitude that goes, "Blessed are those who get everything they desire year in and year out, for they are just that deserving dammit."
Now. I can smell your knee-jerk, accusatory defensiveness. And yes, the gifts I got a few days ago are nothing to sneer at. And I will enjoy them. And I'm not returning them all and donating the proceeds (though, as Peter Singer's moral compass kicks in, perhaps I should). And I'm not in money trouble by any but the most perverted North Shore-ian stretch of the imagination.
I'm just saying it's ironic. The juxtaposition. And we don't ever notice the irony. A day of thanksgiving. And then a day of getting out of bed at 4:30am to trample people (literally) at the front door of Best Buy to get the last DVD player that's free after instant savings and instant rebates and mail-in rebates and a coupon from the paper before the guy down the street can get there because he can't get out of the house before 5:15am because he has to walk his dog and the dog won't go before 5 o'clock.
It just seems so wrong. Shouldn't the thanksgiving last a month and the gift-buying and -giving last a day? (And maybe be price-capped at a card?)
Practical? Perhaps not. Not with our current "it's-the-thought-that-counts-(but-only-when-I-don't-like-it)" socialized mentality. But it could be.
It should be the thought that counts, really. Still, I always complain when people plant trees for me in Israel because, well, because I think that's stupid. But I wouldn't mind donations made in my name to charities I support in theory or in reality. And that could be done in one day. And it wouldn't have that seven deadly sin thing hanging around its personified neck.
Am I disallowing holiday gifts for me from now on? I'm not sure. Maybe I am. I like gifts. But there are always others more in need.
Perhaps I'll personalize my altruistic utilitarianism, Professor Singer. Perhaps I'll take a cue from my calendar. (11/7) Accept birthday gifts. (11/25) Offer thanks. (12/25) Request donations/gifts for others more in need.
I'll give it some more thought. And I'll let you know.
But the current order of things has to change.
2 comments:
Jordan, I still want my goddamn chanukah present. And just because after Christmas you have had this so called awakening doesn't mean you get to cheap out. Had you had the awakening before Christmas, maybe.
I had a similar crisis of basic human faith at the start of December. My brother said it would be rude of me to insist people not buy me gifts. Instead I chose to avoid most family functions where said avarice would be displayed. I was harangued and called a rotten human being - just the kind of fraternal devotion every young man needs. You can't win, my friend, but I'd be happy to help you design a new holiday sans irony.
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