Columnists
Seasonal Greeting Affective Disorder
It’s that time of year! Yay! Time to celebrate the upcoming season of greetings’ angst. And many of my friends and acquaintances have much angst about how to greet others. I don’t have seasonal-affective-greeting angst, but I’m a bit of a no-internal-dialogue kinda gal. I don’t grasp for a greeting. And, for those of you who know me, and for those of you who claim you do, I am plenty good with any type of complimentary greeting. Let’s take the Elf off the Shelf and put the First World greetings angst up there where it belongs.
How did I get so easy-peasy about something as earth shattering as greetings of the seasonal variety, you ask? Of course, you had to ask. It’s all about how I grew up. My brothers and I were raised Catholic, of the Roman variety. Nativity scenes, Hark the Herald, hearing the angels on high and a soupçon of Santa Claus. “Catholic” was just a roll-of-the-dice religious choice for my family, I’m sure. My parents worshipped in the way their parents worshipped.
My paternal grandparents were Irish and my maternal grandparents were Italian. The Irish side didn’t—to the best of my knowledge—celebrate Christmas, religiously or otherwise, until they came to Canada. I suppose they gave the day a nod, if they didn’t have to work, but the New Year was a bigger celebration for them.
Going to the Durning grandparents’ home on Christmas Day wasn’t something any of us looked forward to. Don’t get me wrong, my grandparents were wonderfully kind, but very practical. At their house there wasn’t any wrapping paper or festive treats. Gifts were given and received, but there wasn’t a lot of hoopla. Often it was one gift to be shared amongst the siblings.
My Italian side celebrated with gusto each and every day that had a saint’s or a Jesus event attached to it. There was pelnty of food, platters of dates or figs or nuts or grapes, and lots of Brio and wine to drink. There was always an abundance of noise, laughter, talking, people and music.
As children of immigrants, the Durning kids heard greetings, of the holy/holly day variety, in oodles of languages. My parents expected us to respond to all greetings with respect, and that’s what we did. Nollaig Shona Dhuit, Buon Natale, Feliz Natal, Nadolig Llawen, Prettig Kerstfeest, Season’s Greetings, Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas— we heard ‘em all. When my parents came to Canada with their families, they lived in immigrant neighbourhoods and they heard it all. Many of the neighbours became lifelong friends to our family.
When the four oldest Durning children were young, my parents built our VLA home and we moved from a downtown Toronto ethnic neighbourhood to a “children of immigrants” neighbourhood in Weston, just north of the city. During my childhood years, the old family traditions evolved to incorporate traditions from around the world. We borrowed traditions from our extended family, from our friends, from our neighbours and from the Simpsons’ and Eaton’s catalogues. It made us happy. It made sense to us. We loved all of it. Well, except for the haggis or the baccalà. I’m not sure I’ll ever become one with the haggis, but I have made peace (on earth) with the baccalà.
My point is, and I do have one, why make so much fuss about how you greet another person, at this time of year in particular, as long as your words are kind and well-intentioned?
The reality is a bunch of holidays happen during December. So have yourself a Merry Christmas and I hope your Holidays are happy. Season’s Greetings and have a Festive Festivus. Treat yourself to a Happy Hanukkah, Heri Za Kwanzaa, a Joyful Solstice and a Brilliant HumanLight! It’s all good. It’s all right. Spread the peace and joy.
Comments (0)