Every year I have a beginning-of-Christmas-season ritual. At the beginning of November, I wake up early, rush to the radio and wait to hear the first Christmas song. It somehow sets the tone for the season and usually after I have heard it, I am giddy and doing cartwheels in my head.
Not this year. I woke up and turned on the radio only to hear the ugliest wailing of “Santa Baby” I have heard in… forever. The song was crucified by the unknown singer who I hope never to hear again. I had a vision of the Christmas spirit flying over my roof, hearing the ugly wailing and feathers from her silver wings dropping and she dashes off for fear of falling.
So November is trotting by and I am yet to catch the spirit of my favourite season of the year. If I had been bad all year, I am usually a good kid at Christmas hoping that my good deeds then would erase all the bad. It is not turning out that way.
I have concluded that the only way that the situation can be salvaged is by a miracle. My only other option is to emulate Ebenezer Scrooge himself. I have had some practice. I went to the Courts Christmas Tree light up and laughed as Dora (The Explorer) got mauled by a mob. I chuckled evilly as Mickey Mouse almost got his head taken off by the same mob. My regret was that I could not kick Ernie or some other Sesame Street character also present there.
There was a woman there who told children that Santa was not coming this year and then told the wide-eyed kids that he was not real and they should go home. She became my new favourite person and I grinned when very upset adults asked whether Santa was going to share anything with the crowd. I beamed and said no. Santa was bad and I enjoyed it.
In one easily brushed away pang of conscience, the ‘Good Me’ asked the ‘Scrooge Me’ since when I had become this way. As if that needed an answer!
I am usually good at Christmas. I give gifts to my relatives, call people I haven’t called in a long time, feed stray dogs, try to be helpful in the kitchen (really so I can eat while the food is cooking but who needs to know that), tip the grass-cutter man and even go to church.
This year: forget gifts little nephews and nieces, dream on brothers and sisters, I don’t have phone credit all you forgotten people, stay away from my steps stray dogs, the dogs ate your tip grass-cutter man. I will not give up sneaking into the kitchen now and again. I have a reputation long earned in that department which I must continue.
Redemption you ask? Scrooge was redeemed you point out? Muhahahahahahahahahahah!
Hehehehehehehehe! (thescene@stabroeknews.com)
