'Tis Christmas morning; the sun is shining and the New Brunswick sky is as blue as a Jamaican, Caribbean sky. However, the temperature is a different story; it's -7 degrees Celcius. And speaking of blue, since my dad died on Christmas day, 1969, I sometimes feel a touch of sadness. Thinking back to that particular Christmas, I've always remembered how glad I am that my dad kept trying to phone me on Christmas eve even though I don't recall our very last conversation. At the time of his death, I was living in Lethbridge, Alberta; it was my first Christmas with my first wife, whom I'd married on August 29th - not the happy Christmas day we'd planned - instead of tears of happiness, tears of sadness flowed. But enough said about my personal sadness.
Christmas is a special day for me and even though I wouldn't call myself a Christian because my belief in Christianity or for that matter, any other type of man-made religious faith falls very short - too many people have been killed and maimed, too much blood has been shed and is still being shed as these words hit the monitor screen because of some religious or political fanatic with strong religious or non-religious beliefs exclaiming that only their way is the right way to salvation - whatever the hell that means. I shudder every time a nation claims they're going to war because it's holy, God's will, righteous or some other bullshit religious reason because it is then, the masses collect like mindless sheep and follow each other over the cliff of oblivion and ignorance. However, that being said, to me, Jesus Christ was a live man, breathed the same air and actually walked this earth the same as you and I. And from what I've read and has been passed down from one generation to the next - He is a man to admire, respect and look up to in every way possible - He is the ultimate mentor and emulating our lives after such a person would definitely do no harm. I bow to such a man for He is greater than I and see nothing wrong with celebrating the days of His birth and His demise.
So far, I've written about my own personal sadness and have spouted off my philosophical views pertaining to Christmas, and, since I'm on a roll, I might as well continue with the joy that Christmas day brings to little children. Jesus must roll over in his grave when we, especially the well-to-do of the world, go on the ultimate buying spree, dashing throughout the malls and stores like some fat guy's reindeer, filling our sleighs (big shiny automobiles) with stuff for kids who often have exorbitantly more than they already need and are supposed to be nice; not naughty. I imagine anyone reading this might call me a cynic or a pessimist and I say to them, Bah! Humbug!" for I'm neither Dicken's "Scrooge" or the "Grinch that stole Christmas". I'm pretty much the same as everyone else, I buy gifts for little children (enjoy seeing the way their faces light up when they open a present) and I tout the fat guy who lives at the North Pole even though I know he's a fake (sometimes it's important to believe in magic and make-believe) because reality is often very difficult to bear.
I should mention that before I end this Blog, although Santa has some very amazing reindeer, my favourite one is Rudolf. He's sitting here with me right now along with Santa - we're knocking back the case of beer they dropped off - Rudolf didn't get that red nose from sniffing Blitzen's bum and Santa didn't get that big gut from eating too many sweets - we love our beer!
Cheers - eh!
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