illustration by Jameson Currier

by Jameson Currier

Author’s note: This article was written and published in 1992, before the advent of cellphones and the Internet. In spite of the advances of time and technology, the author finds many elements of this essay still relevant.

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When I was six years old and my brother was nine, he woke me early Christmas morning and together we quietly crept into the living room and found all of our Christmas presents under the tree.

Silently, so as not to wake our parents, we opened all our gifts. By the time my parents awoke a few hours later, my brother and I had moved all of our toys into our bedroom and had begun to assemble a race car set.

My parents were disappointed and upset that morning, but my brother and I were not punished, for it was Christmas Day, after all. They did, however, sit us down for a nice long chat. They told us, “Christmas is a time for the whole family to share together.”

I learned a lot about Christmas that year. Now, thirtysomething years later, my parents still laugh and shake their heads over the incident. In retrospect, realize I have learned something else from that Christmas morning: I, like my brother, am a very impatient person. It must be in the family genes. I don’t like to wait. And Christmas, it seems, is the season for waiting.

Today, I tell my family and friends that if I had a choice I would like to disappear the day after Thanksgiving for about six weeks -unable to be reached by phone, mail or fax. I would like to be absent for the Christmas season. Skip over it.

And it’s not because I don’t like it or enjoy it or believe in it. I do. It’s just that it has become so unbearably long.

Christmas, I have noticed, starts earlier and earlier every year.

I have even heard rumor of an underground movement to make Christmas last all year long. Some people even think it is a good idea. Take, for example, all those Christmas in July sales. Or those stores that never take their Christmas decorations down.

Or people who give you something or do something nice for you and then say, “Consider it an early Christmas present.” You don’t want an early Christmas present. Who does? It’s embarrassing. And you have to get them an early Christmas present too or you’ll feel guilty. And does it mean you’re not getting anything for Christmas? What you want, of course, is just a real Christmas present for Christmas.

The first thoughts, the anticipation of the Christmas season arriving, however, begins for most people sometime in mid October, when the holiday catalogs arrive in the mail. And though you may not be aware of it or acknowledge it as you begin to formulate your want, wish and shopping lists, the wait — the expectations and contemplations of Christmas — has begun.

Imagine, for a moment, that you’re an ambitious shopper, determined to get all your shopping done by mail so you don’t have to fight the crowds at the mall or wait in line at the instant teller. I have a shocking observation for you. You still have to wait. In fact, your wait is rather long.

This is how it goes: You wait to fill out the form, wait to mail it or phone it in, wait for the merchandise to arrive, wait to buy the wrapping paper, wait to wrap the present, wait to send it or give it, wait for a phone call or a kiss or a card or something that says thank you for the present. All this waiting takes up valuable physical and mental time and space. Think of all the other things you could accomplish with this energy. You could redecorate your living room, plan and take a Caribbean vacation, or maybe even solve the global warming effect with the same amount of energy.

But we all know, of course, the true wait, the really big wait, begins the day after Thanksgiving. Every child knows that. And every adult knows it is the biggest and most horrible shopping day of the year. For example, your day could go like this: You wait in line at the bank to withdraw money you don’t have to buy the presents you don’t have. You get stuck in traffic because there’s more traffic than usual on this day of the year. You circle the parking lot at the mall, waiting for a space, any space. You hover around the display case where the big sale is, trying to make smaller and smaller concentric circles, because it is the only way you think you will be able to work your way into the crowd of other shoppers.

You wait for a salesclerk to show you merchandise. You wait for his supervisor to unlock the counter or demonstrate or explain the merchandise. You wait in line at the cashier, who doesn’t know how to operate the register because he or she has just started today. And so you must wait for him or her to learn how to use it. And then you wait for her supervisor to arrive to correct their mistake. You wait for your check or credit to be approved. You wait and wait and wait at gift wrap and finally give up. Walking out of the store, you recognize a familiar Christmas carol being piped over the store speakers. Suddenly you realize you will have to wait and wade through many, many more shopping days before you know whether or not there is going to be a White Christmas this year.

When you get home and check the mail, you find the first invitation of the season has arrived. You’re invited to a Christmas party. Perhaps you’re excited. Perhaps you’re not. Whatever, another wait begins.

You must wait again to withdraw the money, wait in traffic, wait for a parking space, wait to buy the host a present or a bottle of champagne or wine, wait for the cashier and the supervisor. And then the day of the party you wait for your husband or wife or date to get ready and when you finally make it to the party, you can’t wait for it to be over.

What about Christmas cards? You wait to buy them, wait to fill them out, wait for the first one to arrive so that you can mail yours out, wait at the post office and then wait to see if everyone you sent a card sends one to you.

And the tree. Don’t forget the tree! You wait to pull the decorations down from the closet or the attic, wait to pick out a tree, wait in traffic, wait again to pay, wait to get home and rearrange the furniture, wait till you clear out a space to set up the tree, wait till someone comes over or home to help put the decorations up, wait till nightfall before you turn the lights on. And then you wait for Christmas to be over, wait to take the decorations down, put them away and throw the tree out.

And there are other waits, too. Say you’re cooking Christmas dinner this year. You wait at the bank, wait in traffic, wait in the parking lot, wait in the grocery store, wait for the turkeys to arrive, wait to make the stuffing, wait to make the sweet potatoes and the cranberry sauce and the ice tea, then wait for everyone to arrive and then boom, boom, boom, you cook it all up but you have to wait for the gravy to thicken before you can serve it and then you wait to clean the dishes, and then wait, wait, wait until everyone leaves and then you wait some more, probably until mid February, when finally, there is no more turkey left to eat.

Or say, perhaps, you’re going out of town this year. Someone else will do the cooking. Don’t worry. Don’t fret. Don’t get anxious. Because you, too, will have to wait. You wait to make the plane reservation, wait to leave work early, wait to catch the plane, wait for take off, wait for the luggage, wait for the missing luggage, wait to open the presents and eat dinner, wait for the end of It’s a Wonderful Life, and wait to leave and get back home.

And you wonder why there are so many news reports that there is more violence and depression during the holiday season than any other time of the year? Even the simplest, most mundane thing, like buying a carton of milk, involves a great deal of waiting and a lot of inner strength and patience.

And I haven’t even begun to mention all the waits associate with New Year’s Eve. For example: You wait for the party, wait for the traffic, wait for a glass of champagne or food or music to start, wait to have a good time, wait for the last final seconds and the ball to drop, wait for your date to be ready to leave, wait in traffic, wait to fall asleep, wait for the headache the next day to stop, stop, STOP!

And then, sometime in early January, while hurrying off to work, you notice all the dry, brown trees lining the sidewalk, the branches tipping into the gutter, strands of tinsel blowing.

And you feel empty, emptier than you felt at any point during the last six weeks of the holiday season.

And you decide you’ll do it different next year. Next time you’ll go out of town, open all the presents early or just relax, bah humbug, and let it float by without you.

Just as you have made up your mind that you are indeed going to escape from it all a terrible thought floats through your brain. You still have to wait. And now, you realize, you’ve made the wait start even earlier than ever.

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“Tis the Season… To Wait” was first published in The Houston Post (November 29, 1992).