Venti Signature hot chocolate resting near the edge of my laptop…Bing Crosby crooning Christmas tunes over my left shoulder…the sound of a cappuccino maker cutting through the high pitched laughs of three petite scarf necked, soy latte drinking Brentwood soccer moms. Ang, the store manager, has just shot me a smile and wave as she leaves for her lunch break. I nod to a few of the familiar faces that frequent my favorite of establishments. Tis the season to be jolly! I’ve settled into my usual spot at the back of the Nipper’s Corner area Starbucks near my home in South Nashville.
The Christmas season is one with such mixed emotions for me. I enjoy the time spent with family. I love the drinking of eggnog and wassail, reflecting on the true reason for the season, the opening of gifts, the singing of carols and watching 1950s Twilight Zone reruns that are, for some reason, always shown between Christmas and New Year. Although there are such great feelings surrounding the holidays they also bring a bit of sadness and melancholy reflection.
Two of the saddest things that I have to endure during the season are the song ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ and watching the face of someone who opens an unwanted Christmas gift. ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ and unwanted Christmas gifts can depress me until the end of January.
‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ evokes images of lonely old souls sitting in their solitary nursing home rooms, wearing pointed little silver party hats, confetti in hand with no one to throw it on but themselves and Dick Clark’s Rocking New Year’s Eve playing in the background on a tiny wood paneled TV (complete with erect, yet bent, antennae). Plus, since Dick had his stroke a few years ago and you can’t quite understand the numbers he’s counting down, it’s even sadder.
Unwanted Christmas gifts are the worse. A good friend of mine, who happens to be more into musicals and macchiatos than football and beer told me of a gift his father gave him. He relayed to me how he was sitting in front of his dad, who was beaming over the wrapped gift selection. “You’re gonna love these”, his father had said. My friend gently unwrapped his gift, so as not to ruffle the pretty paper that covered the box. He lifted the ‘prized gift find’ from his father out of the box. …Tools.
“What the Heck am I going to do with tools? I’ve hinted to dad for the past three months that I wanted to get into painting and needed an easel and palette” my friend said while shaking his head.
I quipped back, “Maybe he thought you could build them with your tools.”
Sad, sad, sad.
I’ve remedied the unwanted gift in my own life. This may seem a little selfish and it is but here’s what I do: I tell my family DON’T get me a gift unless you see it on the list I e-mail to you (or unless it’s something you know beyond a shadow of a doubt I’ll want…everyone likes a few surprises). I list the type of jeans I want, if you are going to buy me jeans…34/32, 514 or 511 Levi’s. Books…get me a Barnes and Noble book card instead. Shirts…don’t go there…they will be returned or wind up on eBay and I don’t wear sweaters. If you think it’s safe to buy me music, I probably already own the CD or can get it for free from the label. I tell them precisely what I want…a certain microphone or software program, a gift card to J. Alexander’s or new reeds for my accordion…anything else may make me cry. O.K., that’s an exaggeration…and yes fam, a few surprises are good but unwanted gifts do have a stronger emotional effect on me than most people.
Now to the issue of ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’, I’m at a loss what to do about it. I’ve tried to get it banned from being played on local stations. I’ve asked managers in the shops and restaurants that I frequent to remove it from their playlist. They will sometimes. Although I put forth a tremendous amount of effort to rid myself of this sappy tear jerking Christmas downer, strains of the melody will inevitably at some point during the season infect my ears. When I was in college, years ago, I made my spending money by dressing up in a tux and performing as a dinner pianist at the Holiday Inn just outside Troy, Alabama. My repertoire consisted primarily of songs from the 1930s, 40s and 50s, as our clientele was mostly ‘blue hairs’. Without fail, each Christmas, someone would stick a twenty in my tip jar and request ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ and I’d have to play it. Once I had an old lady try to set me up with her grand daughter if I’d play it. A few times I debated telling the patrons to choose another song or take their tip back but I knew the song and wanted the money.
Christmas can also, sometimes, bring out my anger. I’m an easy going guy and I have, over the years, matured to the point where I, for the most part, keep a tight lid on irritable emotions. Again, I say, for the most part. When I think of the holidays in conjunction with losing it, one instance always comes to mind.
A few years ago I was out finishing up my Christmas shopping and had just made a stop by Kroger to pick up a few groceries before returning home. I had been standing in lines all day, doing some serious maneuvering in the heavy holiday traffic and was overdue to be at home sipping a hot cup of tea. I’d put my groceries behind my seat, backed out of my parking space and made my way to the parking lot’s little side street turn lane that entered onto the road. While sitting waiting for traffic to clear for me to jet across the street, I began to hear the sound of a car horn blaring behind me. Honk, Honk, HOOOOOOOOOONK! “What the heck”, I thought to myself. There was no way I could possibly pull out into the street. Traffic was zooming by both ways. Honk, honk, honk!!!! The horn was blowing again. I gritted my teeth and before looking in the mirror I reached for my door handle. I snapped.
Without thinking, my Suburban was flung into park and I jumped out, slamming the door behind me and rushed toward the driver side window of the offending party. As I approached what I saw was a young thirty something year old woman with big ‘I watch Desperate Housewives and live in a condo near Franklin’ sunglasses, wearing a jumpsuit, cell phone to her ear behind the wheel of a new silver Lexus. I glared at ‘Little Miss Thing’ and gave her the absolute best inferno faced ‘do not move, do not even breathe or I will slam a baseball bat through your windshield’ look of intimidation that has ever been given to anyone. I raised my fist and banged on her driver side window. I was fuming. She cracked the window slightly and I verbally laid into her. I’m certain she’d probably wet her Versace jumpsuit at this point. After not-so-politely asking her what her problem was and spewing a few venomous choice phrases, I yelled an angry “Merry Christmas!!!”, and then walked back to my car.
I immediately felt AWFUL. I couldn’t believe that I was now ‘that crazy guy’. I couldn’t believe I’d let someone get the best of my emotions like that. I wanted to vomit because of my reaction. At that time, I was also helping lead music on the worship team at church. It was Saturday. I thought, “Crap…what if she shows up at church tomorrow morning and there I am using the same tongue that I’d lashed her with to praise God”. What a pathetic tool I’d allowed myself to be. I thought to myself, “Never again will I react this way.” Holding to my word, I’ve never done anything like that since. Now, I must admit that I have flipped a guy off for tailgating my car…not a wise thing to do…but that has been the only occurrence I can think of in the past 3 or 4 years. I won’t allow the holidays to drive me into hysterics anymore. I choose to stay off the roads during the month of December when I can. It’s the safest thing for me to do.
As I take one final sip of my signature hot chocolate, I can hear the first strains of Perry Como singing ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ over the sound system here at Starbucks. Best thing for me to do is grab my keys and head to the Galleria for a little holiday shopping.
-Shay
http://www.watsonandnash.com/
http://www.shaywatson.com/
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