All Lit Up

A few months ago, my parents cleaned out their garage, bestowing upon me a coat of spider webs and a magical treasure box of old Christmas lights. So many little white lights, amazingly, still in the original plastic packing. In other words, these delightful celebrations of the season had not yet had the opportunity to spread holiday cheer. They seemed quite old and dusty, but I didn’t have to guess on how old, because my dad has developed a habit of writing dates of purchase on everything he owns. In this case, the lights had waited since 1997, 2005, and 2007 to answer their call to duty. I used to tease my dad about documenting his purchases so diligently, but now, when he needs a battery, I can take a good guess right away how it’s going to go, especially if the battery has traveled here in a time capsule all the way from 1991.

I pride myself in my ability to place Christmas lights on the bushes with nuance and care. When I can, put them up the day after Halloween and take them down, oh, maybe May or June, depending on my schedule. Of course, we get to the end of January, we assess the other houses to make a decision of when to stop lighting them for all to see. One early November, we found the light strings under our bushes severed - cut straight through the wires.

I could not believe it. Was one of my neighbors sending a message to “keep it dark” until Thanksgiving? Was this the work of some scheming miserable holiday hater? Did some kids consider this destruction of joy a delightful prank? Which neighbor should I confront to demand they return Christmas immediately?

I searched the local chatter boxes to see if anyone else had run into this kind of seasonal damage. It turns out others did have the same problem, and they identified the culprit – furry tail and all. Turns out squirrels do the chewing.

That’s when I started spraying our lights with a vinegar solution that seems to keep them away from the electric chew. I’m not sure if these “old but new to me” lights were manufactured with different safety requirements than we have today, or if it simply does not make sense to spray water all over electrical cords right before plugging them into power, but I can tell you I discovered my mistake quite quickly when it felt like the lights were stabbing me, and my hair stood up straight.

Despite making the mistake of using my body to conduct electricity, I felt energized for another holiday season.

What gets you most excited about the Christmas season? Do you fancy yourself a clever shopper and subsequent generous giver of gifts? Do you get more joy from the gathering of family and old friends? Or, do you focus more on indulgences of food and drink?

For me, I focused on tradition as the most important element of the holiday. My family established many of the usual traditions. Turkey and stuffing on Thanksgiving. Christmas decorations and lights everywhere. Advent chocolate calendars and playing in the brass band for Midnight Mass. Christmas cookies and big meals that never end. Presents under the tree, and wandering around the room taking a drink of every single high ball glass until you can’t walk, even though you learned to walk a mere 2 years previously -- because... YOU’RE 3 -- and somehow all the adults think it’s hilarious the 3-year old is drunk. You know, typical holiday memories.

Of course, family get togethers, food, and shopping all played some part of tradition. However, I seemed to demonstrate a desperate need to hold onto every single tradition for dear life. I felt I simply must do everything that qualified as part of the holiday checklist, every year, in the same order, no exceptions. If we had to change things up, I would feel an immediate panic, and possibly even throw a full-on temper tantrum. Why did I feel so strongly? I couldn’t see it at the time when I sat in the thick of that obsession, but I can definitely say it had nothing to do with the actual holiday or even the baby in the manger.

My extended family enjoyed many traditions throughout the year. Birthdays. Cookouts. Graduations. School concerts. Broken bones. We found a reason to connect on a monthly and sometimes weekly basis, and traditions provided the rhythm of that rigorous schedule. Seeing the same patterns and rituals felt like comforting arms carrying me over the painful cruelties and lessons of childhood that comes from when adults force you to “grow up” against your better judgement. You just want to keep having fun, forget that dreaded drive to maturity, and all the false benefits that never materialized with becoming an adult.

Before I even understood the end game of childhood involved paying bills, filling out forms, and putting up your pictures of faded childhood memories on the wall of cloth held up by a metal framework that we lovingly call “cubicles,” I focused on putting the fun back in “fundamentally sheltered denialism.” I pushed every moment possible for maximum enjoyment. I was lucky in these decades of non-stop family bonding to have such quality comedy partners as my brother and cousins.

We loved getting silly and feeding our addiction to uncontrollable laughing fits. As a natural gateway drug to comedy writing, we clung to the teenager staple of sketch comedy, regardless of whether the bits worked or not. Desperate to keep the party going, we watched every Monty Python sketch several times, then we decided we must create our own sketches as the next logical step. We made our own 90-minute sketch special on VHS. As you can imagine, the length did not owe itself to the abundance of good material. It’s more cringy and painful that makes torture feel like a pleasant, refreshing sip of Kool-Aid. Regardless, it did the trick of keeping us occupied and entertained.

As the traditions faded, the drug of laughter proved too overpowering to ignore. I never did grow up, not completely. I’m sure most adults have some part of them, even if it’s a small part, that they keep alive from their childhood to prevent themselves from fading into misery. For me, laughter keeps me sane.

I might have even managed to mature at some point. In fact, I feel inspired to start a new tradition. Time to forgive those that have wronged me and spread holiday cheer. Time for a holiday squirrel party.