From Gut Bombs to Glory: How I Celebrate Holidays

That’s a broad question. Too broad. It’s like asking, “How do you eat food?” Well, sometimes it’s a quick sandwich, sometimes it’s a Thanksgiving gut bomb of turkey and dressing. Holidays are kind of the same way—some are light snacks, others are all-you-can-eat buffets.

Take Easter. That’s the big one in terms of meaning. After 40 days of Lent, we’re ready to party. When Lizzi was little, I made egg hunts so elaborate they looked like blueprints for National Treasure 3. Notes sent her all over the yard and back into the house, ending in a basket that made the actual Easter Bunny look like a slacker.

Fourth of July? I still think about 1976, when Mom dressed me and my stepsisters in Revolutionary War garb. Suzy squeaked on a recorder, Holly waved the flag, and I pounded a snare drum like I was auditioning for “1776: The Musical.” Neighbors came out to cheer, probably because it was either that or listen to another kid with firecrackers.

Halloween took some debate. Eventually I decided that putting on a costume didn’t mean I was pledging loyalty to the Prince of Darkness. It just meant I was dressed as Batman, still calling on the name of Jesus, and raiding my kid’s candy stash like a hypocrite.

Thanksgiving is the food Olympics. Turkey. Dressing. Mom’s frozen fruit cups (don’t knock them). But if it’s just about stuffing ourselves until we need elastic pants, then we’ve missed the point. True thanksgiving is about thanking God. Otherwise, it’s just competitive eating with cranberry sauce.

Christmas is the Super Bowl of holidays. Notes to Santa, cookies, stockings, egg nog, “The Night Before Christmas.” One present on Christmas Eve. And always, a Christmas Eve service to remind us why we’re celebrating in the first place.

And then New Year’s. That means Dad’s jambalaya—well, my upgraded version with extra okra and tomatoes. Add black-eyed peas and greens just after midnight, football all day, and the kind of stew that lasts long enough to become next year’s leftovers.

Sure, I’ll tip my hat to Valentine’s, St. Patrick’s, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, April Fool’s, and the rest. But here’s the truth: when every day is a holiday, no day is a holiday. Some are snacks, some are feasts. And if you treat them all like feasts, you don’t get joy—you just get indigestion.

About Douglas Blaine

Capnpen is a writer who was a newspaper and magazine journalist in a previous life. A college journalism major, he now works as an English teacher, but gets his writing fix by blogging about a variety of topics, including politics, religion, movies and television. When he's not working or blogging, Capnpen spends time with his family, plays a little golf (badly) and loves to learn about virtually anything.

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