Be merry if you can — and be kind to those who can’t
I remember once deciding to spend Christmas Day alone in my Pinetown flat, watching The Godfather trilogy with a bowl of biltong and ice-cold Castles
I’ m knee-deep in the Christmas spirit. I’m walking around whistling Christmas carols in the mall and fighting the urge to randomly yell, “Joy to the world!” Anyone who knows me knows that this is uncharacteristic. I’ve never been Ebenezer Scrooge, but for most of my life I’ve never understood the fuss.
The explanation is simple: I was raised in a hectically Catholic household. By “hectically ” I mean that my mother still misses the preVatican II mass mumbled in Latin by a slightly tipsy Irish priest with his back to the congregation.
Had we lived in Northern Ireland during The Troubles, our house would have been the first to be torched. What this has to with Christmas is that Christmas was a sombre affair.
Consistent with my current Yuletide fever, I have been blasting Christmas songs on my stereo for weeks. Whether it’s Wham’s Last Christmas , Quincy’s sublime version of Hallelujah or Stevie Wonder’s Ave Maria, my playlist is dedicated to the season to be jolly. I was recently cruising down the N3 when Boyz ll Men ’ s You re not Alone came on. I love the song to bits. But I couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably at the part of the chorus that goes “No one should be alone on Christmas Day”. Hmm...
For starters, Christmas is not universally celebrated across the world. If anything, those of us who have inhaled the Christmas hubbly are in the minority. Let’s not include people who get into a dark abyss of melancholy during this time of year due to mental health issues, childhood trauma or the season coinciding with the annual grieving we all go through after losing loved ones. There are people who simply can’t be bothered.
And then there are 20-something young men from hectically Catholic families going through a crisis of faith after reading Dawkins. I think our society gives them a hard time with this insistence that no one should be alone on Christmas Day. I remember once deciding to spend Christmas Day alone in my Pinetown flat, watching The Godfather trilogy with a bowl of biltong and ice-cold Castles.
My peace was intermittently interrupted by calls on the landline — extended family, friends and colleagues worrying about my emotional state. Truth is, had they not kept disturbing me, I would have been absolutely happy.
To avoid calls, I decided to abandon my marathon even before Michael Corleone tells Freddie: “I know it was you!” I called my elder brother Mazwi and we spent the day shooting pool and inserting coins in the jukebox. I was happy again.
In the spirit of the season, please be kind to the non-participants. A merry Christmas to all Sunday Times readers!