Here’s to a dull Christmas
What do you buy the person who wants everything? This Christmas I have a list of desires: a lava lamp, a string of fairy lights, a year’s supply of gin, and someone else to write a summer essay now long past its deadline. I’d like a cooling coat for the dog, a John William Waterhouse print, a new tattoo, and someone to work out once and for all where the roof is leaking.
But what I’ll get is a crushing tension headache; just like I get every year.
While we all complain about the cost and stress of Christmas, nobody wants to admit the worst thing about the day is the boredom.
In my house we’ll eat the same things we always have, give the same gifts, and I’ll get caught cheating at cards like I always do. The kids will count down the minutes till they can escape to mates’ houses, the dogs will eat someone’s chocolates, and I’ll forget to buy cream. My mum will be angry because I’ve forgotten to buy it for three years now.
There will be the same phone calls to be made, the same inside-jokes to laugh over, and the same quibbling over something someone said five or 15 years ago.
We might call it tradition, but boredom by any other name is still boring, and Christmas Day never changes; it just runs on a loop.
After decades of identical celebrations, the most surprising thing about Christmas 2020 is that it’s going to be exactly like all the rest. The only difference is that its sameness now feels like a victory, not a chore.
It only takes a quick glimpse at the news to remind ourselves that nothing else is the same any more. While Kiwis go about their festive planning, Britain and the United States are experiencing record Covid-19 death rates, and people are tearing themselves apart over the inability to be with their loved ones.
Look at us now, compared to everyone else. While many of us will be missing family members who can’t make it home from overseas, it’s still hard not to feel a little smug. We’ve earned it, after all.
New Zealanders gave up our personal freedoms to protect each other; lost our jobs, homes and businesses. We started our Christmas lay-by in March, spent the rest of this year paying for it through our collective noses, and now get to collect what we bought. And that’s a Christmas much like we’ve always had.
The presents have been arriving for months; we just didn’t recognise them under the wrapping. Last week, in the kitchen, my daughter was able to put her arms around me. On Saturday, I was able to squeeze my mum’s knee while we were driving; meet my brother’s eyes in the rearview mirror and tell him I love him.
There is a child I can hug to show how much I love her, when all those months ago I had to yell it from the gate.
And on Christmas Eve my biggest boy will travel down the island like he does every year.
The dogs will be besides themselves like they are always; he’ll walk down the path, bash open the gate and forget to close it like usual. He’ll swing me around and tell me I’ve shrunk; the same thing he says every Christmas.
And then we’ll go inside, like we always do, and all the family will be there, like they always are, and we’ll have the same Christmas we’ve always had.
So what do you buy the New Zealander who wants everything? Nothing – we’ve already got it.