Learn From It

Christmas isn't about Christ. Christmas was a pagan ritual stolen by the Romans and turned into Saturnalia. And that was a feast where men gave presents to other men (because women weren't real people in the eyes of Rome) and ate a lot and had sex with each other.

In fact, Protestants (perhaps the Methodists) banned celebrations of Christmas. Probably because the Pilgrims figured that Jesus will hate you if you hold a pagan ritual on his birthday.

So one thing lingers as personally important to me, and that is the family Christmas Eve dinner at my parents' house. Even more specifically, my Dad's turn at public speaking (well, at least in front of the family) when he says his own homespun Grace.

My personal contribution was the idea that I could “be there” by putting together the technology they, for the most part, had around them. My brother Sam has a new iBook. Marie and Jack have an iSight camera and a broadband connection. I had Brother Sam go out and pick up an Airport Express to complete the project. So: Mac OS X Tiger + iChat + iSight + iBook + Airport Express = Family Teletogetherness^®! Sam sat his iBook on the Dinner table at the far end of the table from my Dad's seat, set my own video feed (I have an iSight camera, too) to the full screen of the iBook and aimed the camera at Dad. So at 15 fps, there was my father, saying grace right in front of me. I dare say it was one of the better ideas I've ever had.

During the prayer, my father mentioned my mother's long joke about paternity—a recap: first it was “you know, kids, you always know who your mother is but you can never be sure who your father is” and later more precipitously to my father, “ok, ok, two out of the three of them are yours, but I'm not saying which two”.

This latter comment has gone on for some time; it's one of our funniest traditions. Dad will call me up and leave voicemail “This is your father-I-think”, and my mother will sign all birthday cards “Love, Mom and Dad^(??)”. So my dad, in his grace over the Christmas Eve Dinner, says, “I don't care if I'm the father or not: they're all my kids. He then pauses, as he does in order to refocus on his notes, and adds, ”All ten of them!“

I was laughing my ass off, forgetting that they could all see and hear me just as I could see and hear them.

After 25+ years of Mom owning the tactical advantage on the running paternity joke, my father, in one fell swoop, steals it back.

And that, dear readers, is a sublime example of the True Meaning of Christmas: family. Family is what you make it. DNA is only part of the story.

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