The Pro’s of Immaturity: Mistle-woes

I have my own personal grinch. He’s not green and stooped, and he doesn’t live in a cave. My grinch is tall, curly-haired and lives across the hall.

My grinch is my brother.

Okay, he’s not actually a grinch. My brother can be nice, and he doesn’t go around stealing Christmas decorations (although he has a good maniacal laugh). He’s only a grinch because he killed Christmas.

I was sitting on the couch, just doing my homework and asking my mom if I could make gingerbread men to eat with peppermint hot chocolate.

Before she could answer, he cut me off. I was a first-semester senior applying to college. I had finals. As long as I had work, he said, Christmas would be dead.

As if finals weren’t depressing enough. Love you too, Brother.

Thinking about it, though, I guess my family’s always put a damper on the holidays. Sure we put up the Christmas tree and get each other presents and all. But we still lack a bit of that spirit that you’re supposed to have around Christmas.

We never make gingerbread houses, stuff stockings or leave milk and cookies out for Santa. I think the first time we made Christmas cookies was last year. I’ve seen “It’s A Wonderful Life” a grand total of one time.

My mom even ended my Santa Claus fantasies when I was five. That spring, we arrived home from a trip on Easter morning. I ran out of the car, eager to find the eggs the Easter Bunny had left. As I opened the door, my mom told me the truth. There was no long-eared friend hiding eggs in our basement. She always bought our eggs at CVS.

That, she decided, was a good moment to tell me there was no Santa Claus. Or Tooth Fairy.

Thanks, Mom.

I was pretty scarred by that incident. For a while, I considered telling my baby brother the truth right away— that there was no Santa, and that his Christmas gifts would come from our parents.

After some reevaluation, though, I decided against that plan. Sure, on the one hand, he would never have to endure the pain of discovering that his family had lied to him, or lose the innocence of his childhood and all that. But on the other, a life without a Santa Claus or Easter Bunny or Tooth Fairy is just so incredibly empty.

Sure, my mother and brother may try to steal my holiday spirit this year, but I don’t have to ruin it for other people, or give up on it myself. If I want hot chocolate, gingerbread or dreams of Santa Claus, they can’t stop me.

Besides, even the real Grinch had a change of heart. And December 25 is still over a week away. I don’t need to worry.

Yet.