In any language

Here’s the deal in my world. Santa Claus is coming to town. Yep. As far as I’m concerned, that’s what happens in December. As many of you know, I believe in Santa Claus. And I believe if you’re older than seven, you are old enough to become Santa Claus. I believe in the holiday season and the potential it has to soften the hardest of hearts. It is an opportunity for everyone to become a big heart. In my world, Santa Claus bellies are full of hearty laughter. Kids need to hear the welcoming ho ho ho so they know it’s really, really, Santa Claus. But that’s my personal world.

And while I’m on the topic of my belief in Santa Claus and the hearty ho ho ho, let me say I understand the vast majority of the world doesn’t see things my way. I have no problem whatsoever with that. Truth be told, I don’t think LOML actually believes in Santa Claus. His loss. My youngest sister is a Hanukkah celebrating kind of gal. I have never forced tinsel or candy canes on her, nor have I ever asked her what she wants for Christmas. Besides, she has eight days of gift-giving and celebrating. I do, however, wish her a Happy Hanukkah, and quietly toss a Happy Christmakkah at her when I think she’s not really listening. My point is—and I do have one—it is the holiday season. It makes no difference if you stop me on the street and throw me a Happy Solstice, Divine Diwali, Delightful Kwanzaa, Festive Festivus or Merry Christmas. Anyone who takes the time to pass along a greeting, is a wonderful person in my Naughty and Nice book.

Everyone celebrates differently. How boring our world would 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. My father’s parents didn’t celebrate Christmas until their grandchildren arrived on the scene. They made the concession after someone urged them to get a tree and buy gifts for the grandchildren. Nanny and Papa did buy a dangerously brittle, peculiar looking, aluminum tree (they never decorated it) with a blue light that made it look like a bottle of sparkly Windex. To them, Christmas was frivolous, and the celebration of it was unnecessary. 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 understand the concept 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 gender-specific 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 my all of my grandparents and my parents came to this country. Canada’s 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.” To me, that means each and every one of us, including those 250,000 brand new Canadians, along with the millions who already happen to be here, should be able to ho ho ho, buon Natale, Beannachtaí na Nollag or chag Chanukah sameach, if that’s what we choose to do.

Our cultural differences shouldn’t divide us— they should just make the party chatter and the party platter a bit more interesting.

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca