Ho, ho, hum

December snuck in quietly this year. There hasn’t been any snow. Parents haven’t had to deal with school closures and the ensuing scramble for childcare. If you’ve set your cap on shovelling for extra cash, it looks like lawn care might still be in the cards. On top of this, December is just a tough month for lots of people. It’s a slap in the face for folks who can’t afford to celebrate the season the way television, newspapers, radio and the internet suggest. As many of you know, I’ve struggled with December, and the approach to the holidays in the past. I simply couldn’t find my inner joy or my HO HO HO or my Om or an Ave Maria. I had one foot firmly planted in all things excessive and one foot firmly planted in “find the peace”. I had tinselitis—a really bad case of it. This year, on top of the usual holiday mayhem, the whole world seem to be more at odds with itself than usual.

We don’t all see things the same way. Some of us are adamant our way of celebrating the holiday is the right way. I used to be a my way or the highway kinda gal, and I really don’t know how that happened. It certainly didn’t have anything to do with the way I was raised. As my baby brother would say, “We were lucky, as kids. Our parents were very liberal.” Indeed they were very liberal. As long as my parents were alive, the celebration of the season was a brilliant mix of cultures, next-of-kin, former kin, neighbours and people who’d been around so long they were kin. My father was born in Scotland to Irish parents. The Durnings were immigrants, first to Scotland and then to Canada. They certainly didn’t celebrate Christmas with all the trimmings. My mom’s family was from Sicily. The Curcios and Battaglias were also immigrants, but celebrating the holidays with them was more about music, food and laughs. Eventually my parents created a version of the holiday season that suited everyone. Our get togethers were a delicious mix of family from the Netherlands, Malta, Ireland, Australia, Scotland and from just about every state in the USA. I came from a big family. Money was tight when there were so many people. In spite of all this, somewhere along the line, I forgot how wonderful the holiday season could be.

My father’s parents didn’t celebrate Christmas until their grandchildren arrived on the scene. They made a concession and someone urged them to get a tree and buy gifts for the grandchildren. To them, Christmas, in Canada, was overdone. Wrapping paper and ribbons were wasteful. Mince and tatties, white bread and boiled pudding was on their Christmas dinner menu. On the other hand, my mom’s father didn’t buy into the idea of a Christmas tree. But how he loved Christmas. He loved midnight mass. Nonno loved Christmas songs and music. He was very generous with the gifts, although he wasn’t very good at genderspecific gift selection (my favourite gift from him was a left-handed hockey stick and a bottle of Old Spice aftershave when I was 10). He loved good food, expensive sweets and wine. There was always roasted chestnuts, mixed nuts, cheeses and fruit at his house. Isn’t cultural diversity a wonderful thing?

Every year, about a quarter of a million people, from all over the of the world, choose Canada as their new home. They are drawn to this country by the quality of life and Canada’s reputation as an open, peaceful and caring society that welcomes and values diversity. It is the reason why all of my grandparents and my parents came to this country. Our approach to diversity is based on the understanding that “respect for cultural distinctiveness is intrinsic to an individual’s sense of self-worth and identity, and a society that accommodates everyone equally. We are a society that encourages achievement, participation, attachment to country and a sense of belonging.” All of that means to me that each and every one of us, including those 250,000 brand new Canadians along with the 20- plus million who already happen to be here, should be able to HO HO HO, Buon Natale or Beannachtaí na Nollag or chag Chanukah sameach or Selamat Hari Natal, if that’s what we choose to do.

How boring would our world be if everyone celebrated at the same time and in the same way. Canada never was awash with white bread and peanut butter eating, Anglo-Saxon, stocking hanging, tinsel-tossing, wish-list-making, sugarplum dreaming kids.

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca