2008 Woodie Awards
LEFT TURN ONLY: A new take on the holidays
Garon Anders
Issue date: 12/6/05 Section: Opinions
I have to admit that when it comes to the holidays, I am a bit of a Scrooge. For as long as I can remember, I have disdained the overly commercial season of Christmas. As a child, the hectic family gatherings at Thanksgiving and Christmas unnerved me. As I grew older, things became worse. Coming from a true Southern family, I was greeted with "Hey, sweetie! Are you doing well? It is SO good to see you!" These greetings came from people who, as soon as I returned to school, would begin to gossip about my lifestyle and lack of "career focus." Constant blinking lights give me a headache and garland, regardless of how expensive, agitates my allergies.
Eventually, I sought kindred spirits who held an equally disdainful view of the holidays. Rather than put on a fake smile and attend my family's superficial gatherings, I chose friends with whom I could travel. During Thanksgiving, I would head north to catch a show at the Kennedy Center and do some personal shopping at the Pentagon City Mall. I would join friends for Christmas excursions. Delaware provides the best tax-free shopping. Rehoboth Beach is full of fantastic outlets and in Delaware it always seems to snow on Christmas. If I joined a friend's holiday gathering, I would watch with a reproachful eye while sipping on a cocktail as others opened their gifts. What can I say - I'm just not a "fountain of merriment" kind of guy.
Last year, things changed. My brother was called to active duty for a tour in Iraq. He was scheduled to begin the first leg of his journey on January 2. Realizing that Xanax, eggnog, and mistletoe alone would not pull my parents through this Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's, I agreed to stay with Mom and Dad. I would put on the smiling face I had worn through my teens. I was going to attend all the holiday festivities, and I was going to be the model son.
Things were so hectic and our house so full of well-wishing visitors, that my sense of disdain returned with renewed vigor. I rang in the New Year with a quiet celebration sitting in the family TV room watching some movie whose name I can't remember. With dread, we sat, knowing that the next day we would carry my brother to Pope Air Force Base and send him to the uncertainty of a war zone. Early the next day, we drove Bobby to PAFB. There was a nondescript luncheon for family members, a prayer ceremony, followed by tearful goodbyes. I didn't shed a single tear. Instead, at the request of my Dad, I videotaped my brother's march to the aircraft that would carry him to Kuwait City.
Eventually, I sought kindred spirits who held an equally disdainful view of the holidays. Rather than put on a fake smile and attend my family's superficial gatherings, I chose friends with whom I could travel. During Thanksgiving, I would head north to catch a show at the Kennedy Center and do some personal shopping at the Pentagon City Mall. I would join friends for Christmas excursions. Delaware provides the best tax-free shopping. Rehoboth Beach is full of fantastic outlets and in Delaware it always seems to snow on Christmas. If I joined a friend's holiday gathering, I would watch with a reproachful eye while sipping on a cocktail as others opened their gifts. What can I say - I'm just not a "fountain of merriment" kind of guy.
Last year, things changed. My brother was called to active duty for a tour in Iraq. He was scheduled to begin the first leg of his journey on January 2. Realizing that Xanax, eggnog, and mistletoe alone would not pull my parents through this Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's, I agreed to stay with Mom and Dad. I would put on the smiling face I had worn through my teens. I was going to attend all the holiday festivities, and I was going to be the model son.
Things were so hectic and our house so full of well-wishing visitors, that my sense of disdain returned with renewed vigor. I rang in the New Year with a quiet celebration sitting in the family TV room watching some movie whose name I can't remember. With dread, we sat, knowing that the next day we would carry my brother to Pope Air Force Base and send him to the uncertainty of a war zone. Early the next day, we drove Bobby to PAFB. There was a nondescript luncheon for family members, a prayer ceremony, followed by tearful goodbyes. I didn't shed a single tear. Instead, at the request of my Dad, I videotaped my brother's march to the aircraft that would carry him to Kuwait City.
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