This has to count as the most bizarre story of this, and
probably any other Christmas season.
I don’t see why it’s appearing as a New York Times Modern Love column, because it’s a story about how a
woman’s adult children managed to kill her Christmas.
Carolyn Briggs has three married adult children. They and
their spouses have renounced Christmas in favor of a life dedicated to the worship
of the Nature Goddess.
She describes them:
MY
three vegetarian, activist, urban, multi-degreed, agnostic, adult children have
rejected Christmas as a consumerist sham
of a holiday, one in which they will not be participating. Oh, they’ll take the
day off and drink organic wine, but they won’t be buying presents, putting up a
tree, baking cookies, lighting candles or decking any halls. There will be no
taking of a family picture for their card and no sending of that card or any
other.
Christmas is celebrated around the world, by many people who
are not Christians. In America it’s a national holiday.
Many Christians bemoan the commercialization of the holiday,
but a minimally sentient human being should understand that there is much more
to giving gifts than participating in a capitalist conspiracy against the Goddess.
What does Christmas mean to Carolyn Briggs:
For me,
Christmas is one of those fleeting but essential “aah” moments of generosity,
family bonding and extravagance of spirit that psychologists tell us matter
because they give us the opportunity to transcend, appreciate and feel outside
of time. I don’t know about you, but I need that at least once a year.
Surely, this explains why so many non-Christians celebrate
Christmas.
Briggs’ “activist” children have made an ideologically-based
decision. They will impose their views on their parents. They will do
everything in their power to prevent their parents from celebrating Christmas.
These children love Nature beyond reason, with the exception of the natural process that would allow them to reproduce themselves, and
thus, to provide Carolyn Briggs and her husband with grandchildren.
Briggs writes:
There
would be no homecoming, no wrapped gifts and no grandchildren to fill with Santa
dreams. My grown children were childless by choice and vowed to remain that
way.
Ceremonies and rituals bring society together. Their absence
divides and fragments the polity.
These children may not feel that they hate their parents,
but they are acting as though they do. No one is forcing them to believe
anything that they do not want to believe, but they ought to be able, for one
day a year to show some respect to their parents.
If these neo-pagans do not want to celebrate Christmas, that
is their business. Depriving their mother, in particular, of a holiday
celebration that is, as her article explains, so important for her, bespeaks a
meanness of spirit, an absence of generosity that deserves no respect.
Don’t these children owe their parents something for having
given them life, for having brought them up and for having helped provide them
with advanced educations?
Where did they learn to become monsters of ingratitude?
In today’s America, an advanced education often brainwashes
people to the point where they can only show contempt for people who do not
think as they do.
No one has ever described this heartlessness as well as
Charles Dickens. Describing Ebenezer Scrooge, Dickens wrote:
Oh! But
he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching,
grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint,
from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained,
and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped
his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red,
his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime
was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his own low
temperature always about with him; he iced his office in the dogdays; and
didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas.
External
heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm, no wintry
weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was
more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty. Foul
weather didn't know where to have him. The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail,
and sleet, could boast of the advantage over him in only one respect. They
often `came down' handsomely, and Scrooge never did.
One applauds Carolyn Briggs for shaming her ungrateful children
in the pages of the New York Times.
Unfortunately, this story does not have a happy ending.
Faced with the recalcitrance of her fanatical children, Briggs finds herself
having to choose between them and Christmas.
She chooses her children and can now look forward to bleak
and desolate, joyless Christmases.
I have
thought about my behavior all year, and I am resolved not to become the old
person in the family who remains recalcitrant and claims outsize privilege with
age. I am not going to guilt my children anymore for not giving me what I
assumed they would be happy to provide.
I had
hoped for grandchildren, and I wanted those grandchildren with glossy hair and
pajamas sitting around my Christmas tree each and every year, but that’s not
what I’m going to get. My children will bring kennels and leashes to my house,
not strollers and car seats. They are going to be exchanging notes on dog food
and doggy day cares, and they will continue to refer to their peers who are
parents as breeders.
We are
all going to meet at my daughter’s in Texas at the end of December. Even though
we will never attempt a traditional Christmas again, we will have some winter
holiday gathering where we eat bowls of faro and root vegetables topped off by
a dessert of silken tofu lemon mousse. We will share stories of our lives and
travels. The guitars will come out.
Apparently, the Times
applauds Briggs’ spirit of compromise and conciliation. The newspaper of record
seems to like it when one group of people imposes its views on others.
It entitles the article: “A Holiday Built on Presence, Not
Presents.”
As though the one precludes the other.
In truth, the Briggs children are not present for the festivities
and celebrations. They might be there as flesh and blood, but they are absent
in spirit.
There’s more to presence than occupying space. Holidays are about giving. The Briggs children are taking something from someone.
Giving gifts is a universal custom. It creates and confirms
a human connection. To see it as a capitalist plot is mere ignorance.
I am not sure that any of us know what we would do were we
faced with the choice that Carolyn Briggs faces. We would hope we would have
the moral courage to shame our children in public for their disgraceful failure
to show the least generosity and respect for their parents.
