Autobiography: Christmas

On the 1st December, as if by magic our house is transformed overnight from happy suburbia into Santa's Grotto.

Upon exiting my bedroom on the first day of the worst month or so of my life every year, my blurry-morning eyes are sharply blinded by the unbearable effect of the gaudy multicolored fairy lights that hang in every nook of our house, and because they flash in such a rapid manner, it is impossible to look at them clearly through the strobe effect of my pulsating eyes.

After flinching away from these festive implements of torture, I make the mistake of going to downstairs to assess the damage. Immediately on viewing the horrific scene before my eyes, I subconsciously retract backwards, trying to feel for the stairs which lead to the dark safe haven of my quietly mundane grey bedroom. But, as if like some morbid fascination I cannot rip my eyes away from the gore that lay before me, much like a spectator witness to a car crash.

I quickly realize that resistance is futile, and grudgingly pick my way around what seems to be the remains of my home. Deciding that facing what will be

-No contest- the worst room of the house will be the best thing to do in the situation; I cautiously make my way to the living room, and prepare myself for the worst.

It is the 7.5ft real pine needle tree that looms in the corner that grabs (and shakes like a pneumatic drill) my attention first. This tree, adorned with what can only be described as the most... FESTIVE "decorations" is of course the masterpiece of the house. It is as if my family has one mission and one alone- to prevent any patch of green showing out from under the décor. It looks how I feel; a hostage of this "special" time of year, gagged and bound by reams of burning lights and suffocated slowly by masses of cheap plastic ornaments.

As I survey the rest of the scene I sigh with disappointment to see with a familiar feeling of dread reverberate through my stomach as I see that the rest of the place is every inch as mortifying as it was 360 days earlier.

At this point my co operative-ness has reached its end as I dig my fingernails into my schoolbag and lunge for the door, slamming it behind me. But, as usual the last laugh is on me as the huge wreath of holly and berries that hangs off the front door swings up as if out of spite and connects painfully with the back of my head.

However, this pain recesses and is forgotten as I lift my throbbing head (eyes still squinting from my head injury) in elation at the joy of being free from Santa's Grotto.

Ahhhh, finally I am emancipated.

I walk happily with a spring in my step- eyes closed and a smile on my face until I trip over what looks like a hoof. After slowly managing to peel my carcass off the asphalt (what else can possibly go wrong?!) my eyes widen with a new found horror as I see my arch nemesis; Santa himself complete with entourage have taken up residence in my front garden. Those oversized novelty glowing monstrosities, them with their patronizing smiles and flashing eyes- it is them!, them who symbolize the very essence of Christmas (emphasis on the Christ), the capitalist holiday which has gone from being a religious celebration to an excuse to get spend money, get in debt, get drunk and generally exploit what started off as a religious holiday that has now turned into a mockery. I myself am an atheist, perhaps a stereotypical target for using Christmas for my own needs, and even I -with my lack of participation of respect for Christianity can see the sheer atrocity of using Christmas. To take part in a holiday for a religion that I don't even believe in just so I can get some new socks and sit in front of the television watching Christmas Specials sickens me, and therefore I refuse to participate.

So to be then forced to live in the very epitome of the thing I hate sometimes pushes me to the edge- but then I remember-

"Christmas comes but once a year".

What a blessing.

With this thought in my mind I compose myself after my collision with what seems to be Rudolph (the neon nose gives it away) I begin the long slow walk to school, and shock myself with how much I am looking forward to being enveloped in it's thankfully institutionalized neutral walls, when another painful thought hits me.

It won't be long before the school decides to put its depressingly shoddy excuses for Christmas decorations.

With the affirmation that soon, there really will be nowhere to escape I run back up the driveway, give Rudolph a long hard stare and then, my eyes gleaming with a sparkle that only comes with revenge, give him a swift hard kick in the fiberglass shin.

The corners of my mouth turn up in retribution and I am satisfied.

Laura Keane 11D