What Christmas Means

My Christmas story for 2017. Doesn't everyone have their own take on what Christmas means to them?

 

What Christmas Means

 

                On Christmas Eve in a major metropolitan area, an unremarkable man appeared on a busy sidewalk. His straightforward journalistic assignment: Survey the public; ask anyone who will stop to answer the simple question: What does Christmas mean to you? 

                Passersby accepted the journalist because he had an easygoing air about him, a gentle demeanor and a contented, not at all assertive, brash, or resolute attitude regarding his down-to-earth task.  People later recalled this journalist had dressed out-of-time and employed an out-of-date tape recorder to document his queries, but other than those features, these same people professed a profound inability to describe him. The journalist spoke to a great many people and�"others.

                Beginning his survey, the journalist stopped an excited thirtyish man long enough to answer his short question. “Christmas means having one of those awesome 70-inch Ultra HD 4K TVs! I’m going to pick one up right now!” He jogged away leaving the journalist shaking his head in dismay.

                A young woman talking on her phone paused to tell the journalist, “A new phone! That’s what Christmas means to me. This thing is a year old already �" obsolete! No, not you mother, I’m here answering this man’s question about the holiday. Merry Christmas,” she said, flicking her phone up to take his picture, but he turned away. She giggled and continued her conversation while strolling away.  

                Soon, a tired young mother approached him carrying a young child. He posed his question.

The mother took a deep breath and said, “What does Christmas mean to me? A giant hassle! Relatives showing up unannounced, big meals to prepare, crazy shopping sprees and frantic, last-minute package wrapping, it doesn’t stop.  I can’t wait for Christmas to be over!”   The child, with eyes twinkling, reached for the journalist’s microphone and baby spoke, “Santa. Santa come!”  The mother beamed and held her child closer. “Oh, I misspoke because Christmas is a wonderful time!”

In a lull of human foot traffic, a gray tiger cat moseyed along. The journalist bent over and in cat language posed his question. The cat paused and with a meow, said, “Christmas? Maybe a rousing chase after a mouse!  Then, a bowl of warm milk. Meow,” the cat purred but then froze. “Look, a victim!”

                The journalist saw the mouse scurrying along the curb. “Wait!” He said to stop the cat from pouncing. With people giving him odd looks and wide berths, he moved closer to the mouse that shrank in horror from the cat but didn’t fear the journalist in the least. He squeaked his question to the mouse.

 “Not to be eaten by that cat!” The mouse squeaked eying the cat. “And a nice piece of cheese�"not attached to any�"devices.”  The journalist distracted the cat long enough for the mouse to scurry along and hide in a hole in the wall. 

                Soon afterward, the journalist spied a well-dressed, upwardly mobile couple pacing along.

                “If I may ask you a question,” the journalist asked, and when they paused, he added, “what does Christmas mean to you?”

                “Oh, really? You have to be kidding. Well, in our house and close circle, we do not speak of that so-called holiday. Namely, WE consider this time of year as a celebration of the winter solstice, the shortest days of the year when we wish for the sun’s warmth to return. Probably not the answer you expected, huh?” They paused to see if the journalist might argue the point, but there was no argument, so they continued. “The holiday has been misconstrued into a time of blatant consumerism and force feeding false religious propaganda upon anyone and everyone.”  They paused again waiting for a reaction from the journalist, but he displayed none.  Smiling, they finished with, “but just for the record, we DO celebrate with a rollicking great time!”

                Taking the persons very much by surprise, the journalist said, “thank you for your candor.”

                Later, when posed the question, a middle-aged man pulled his jacket tighter around his neck, smiled, and said, “To cheer mankind on a cold day in winter, Merry Christmas!”  

                Soon thereafter, an older woman struggled along with a large old purse hanging on one arm while gripping a small purchase in the other. At first she shirked from the journalist’s approach but glancing about to reassure herself, she relaxed and let him ask his question. 

                “Why young man, everyone knows the meaning of Christmas, and it means the same to me.”

                “Ah, madam,” the journalist said. “That’s not a personal answer.  I have found taking this survey that no one agrees on a single meaning of Christmas, so what does it mean to you?”

                “I’m not sure, young man,” the elderly lady said, thinking about it. “I suppose, without getting churchy, Christmas means this to me: I remember Christmas as a time to think of others above myself�"to spread happiness to the extent of my reach and my means. Does that answer your question?” He nodded and thanked her. She wished him a Merry Christmas and continued on her errand.

                The journalist paused to ponder what he had heard so far, and he determined that the answers he had obtained added up to nothing quantifiable.  He wondered if he had heard the true meaning of Christmas, if he would even recognize the true meaning if he heard it, or if he might overlook it among the many differing statements. His superior expected a clear, concise report, so he pressed on.

A frazzled professional man dressed to the hilt strode up, but he wouldn’t stop when the journalist beckoned him. “Spread thin. No time to talk to you!” The man said pointing to his phone. The journalist, not to be put off, kept pace with the man while walking backwards. He posed his question. The man caught his breath and said, “What does Christmas mean to me? Maybe a day off but maybe not�"” And he moved on, but he stopped, relaxed, and turned back. A smile formed; he raised a defiant fist and shouted with glee. “It’s Christmas! I will find some alone time with my wife and new baby!” 

                After that encounter, a man jogged down the sidewalk with a Lab on a leash. “Can you stop and answer a question?” The journalist posed. The jogger and dog both agreed. 

When asked the question, the man paused, and said with a shrug, “I don’t know. I guess I follow what’s trending, ya’ know, commonplace. We exchange gifts, eat a nice meal, have a good time.”  He shrugged again.

The journalist nodded and noticed the Lab was eager to provide his own answer. He bent down and put the microphone near the dog’s snout. He barked and woofed and growled for the dog. The dog responded, “I want to keep my human healthy and happy, that’s my job!” He wiggled all over and wagged his tail, and his master brightened with his dog’s contentment.

                “Old Feller sure has his opinions on the subject, doesn’t he?” The man said with a chuckle. “He’ll make Christmas happy around my place because he always makes us happy.” He bent down and rubbed the dog’s ears.  “Well, we’re getting chilled standing out here, so got to go!” Old Feller turned back to the journalist and let out a spirited “woof!” Likewise, the journalist returned the farewell.

                After a few minutes of no takers, a well-dressed, nuclear family strolled along hand in hand, a picture-perfect family of two parents with a boy and a girl. When asked, the three turned to the father.

                “Why, what Christmas means? What a question! It’s the birthday of Jesus, of course! We strive to keep the ‘Christ’ in Christmas as everyone should,” he said. “To celebrate the event, we go to church�"twice! There, the children take part in recounting the wonderful story of our savior’s birth.” The proud parents beheld their contented children before moving on to their destination.                

                As twilight approached, the journalist wandered away from the bright and cheery storefronts to a little seedier area. He spotted a shabbily dressed man rustling through a trash can. With old knit gloves that had some fingertips missing, the man drew out a soda pop can and dropped it into a stained reusable shopping bag.

                As the journalist drew up, he saw that the unkempt man wore a rough beard and messed, longish hair. The journalist knew this man’s answer would not be a happy one by any means, so he was a necessary subject to query. The man eyed the journalist’s approach.

                “Please answer a question for me, would you?” The journalist said. The man relaxed with the journalist’s kind tone. “What does Christmas mean to you?”

                “Oh, a wonderful time, Christmas!” The man said with surprising spirit. “Look around us, see all the colorful decorations, the lights, and the music from the stores with everyone together bustling about.  It is a wonderful time!”

                “But for you�"personally?”

                “Yes, of course, for me, too!” The man said. “I’m good out here on Christmas Eve! A good, warm meal is to be had at the shelter, and afterwards, we that live on street will sing Christmas carols terribly off key. It’ll be a most festive night.”

                “But don’t you want what other�"people have?”

                “Do they have it better than me? No. My life is simple, and I live mine the way I want.”  He paused to examine the journalist. “Ya’ know, I notice a lot of little things out here. You don’t have any tapes in that recorder or even use it, do you? So where do you come from anyway?”

                “I’m on assignment, doing a survey for�" my boss,” said the journalist. “I’m just collecting people’s feelings on Christmas down here on the street.”

                “Then Merry Christmas to you, sir,” the man said, extending his ragged-gloved hand. The journalist grasped it. “Christmas puts joy in the air for everyone to enjoy! Go tell your boss that Harvey Bronson provided him with the single answer you sought, and it’s all about down here on Christmas.” Still holding the grip, the man looked the journalist in the eye and said:

 “Joy, that’s what Christmas means.”