Boughton Law
I am so glad it’s over. You know, that “season” I’m not supposed to mention by name, lest it offend someone. That most wonderful time of the year: the so-called “holiday season.” We might just as well call it the “Voldemort season” given that everyone seems to be afraid of the word Christmas.
Every year, I mourn the tradition of saying “Merry Christmas” and I go out of my way to thank people in shops and banks who actually wish me a “Merry Christmas” as opposed to the people (all with the best of intentions) who wish me “Happy Holidays” or “Seasons Greetings,” which is really odd, considering I’m a devout atheist of the Richard Dawkins school of thought, believing more in messages than messengers.
My Christmas is cultural, not religious. I’m as cynical about the three wise men as I am about the Coca-Cola Santa, but like it or hate it, Christmas is still woven into the fabric of western civilization, replacing as it were, the Druid festival of Nolagh, the Roman festival of Saturnalia, and other celebrations that happened around the winter solstice.
But I like it when people say “Merry Christmas” to me. And I like it when Christmas cards say Merry Christmas instead of the bland, milquetoast “I don’t want to offend anyone so I’d better call it Seasons Greetings,” which means absolutely nothing to anyone so it means absolutely nothing offensive to anyone either. (Which Season? Which Greeting?)
Or they wish the recipient Happy Holidays in Cyrillic, Arabic, Hebrew, Chinese, Japanese, and of all things, Klingon; the recipient getting to pick the language of their “Happy Holidays” without having to pick what those holidays might be. The Druid festival of Nolagh? Kwanzaa? Hanukkah? The Taoist celebration of Ta Chiu? All of them happen around the same time of the year. Frankly I’d be thrilled if someone actually sent me a card celebrating Kwanzaa, Nolagh, or Hanukkah!
You’d think in this age of niche marketing when online retailers can pinpoint my buying habits from the cookies on my browser, lawyers would be able to figure out who’d be thrilled to get a Christmas card and who wouldn’t. Alas, we’re stuck with Happy Holidays.
My Jewish, Muslim, and Sikh friends think we’re all stark raving loonies, caught up in political correctness. Then they wish me a Merry Christmas.
Perhaps we should all start sending cards that say: “We’d prefer to wish you a Merry Christmas, but on the off chance it might upset you, we’ve settled for Seasons Greetings in six languages so as not to risk losing your business. Please pick a language and a holiday that works for you and have a Happy Whatever!”
So I just don’t bother anymore. Humbug, I say.
I cringed this year when I was asked to support a holiday tree in, of all places, a shopping mall (doesn’t that say it all). The holiday tree and its worthy supporters wouldn’t call it a Christmas tree, despite my best cajoling and promises of donations. Nope. It’s a holiday tree. “Which holiday?” I asked, not bothering to get an answer. I donated to the food bank instead.
As I’ve said elsewhere and often, when they rename A Charlie Brown Christmas to A Charlie Brown Happy Holiday, or Stuart McLean re-records Dave Cooks the Turkey and calls it Dave Bakes a Salad, I’ll know I’ve lost the battle, and political correctness will have won. Until then, I continue the fight.
Speaking of which, I wanted to donate a goat to a poor family in Africa or South America this Christmas; something encouraged by one of the lawyers in our firm. Then I saw something widely shared on social media telling me not to send animals to third world countries.
Apparently, all 1.5 billion people who would seemingly qualify to receive the goats are lactose intolerant, which is quite a surprise given that I’ve been to Tanzania, Peru, and Ecuador where there are a lot of goats shepherded by lots of people who would otherwise not have goats to milk . . . or meat to eat. I’ve even seen Maasai women milk goats. Who knew they couldn’t drink the stuff!!!
The anti-goat givers say goats use too much water. But don’t we humans use lots of water as well (and don’t goats use less?). They also claim more animals means more mouths to feed, because, (it seems), goats add to a family’s “burden,” and the animals often suffer from neglect, malnutrition, dehydration, lack of medical care, and lack of shelter from temperature extremes.
Surprisingly, just like many of the human beings trying to scratch out a living in those countries, it’s such a burden in the first world to have to worry so much about how the domesticated animals are treated by subsistence farmers and shepherds in the developing world, isn’t it?
Says my colleague: “The boy we sponsor in Uganda takes his Christmas money every year and buys a goat or two. This has been going on for a few years now, and I imagine he has a herd of 20 or 30 goats now. So despite what the activists say on social media, the locals buy goats when they have the opportunity to do so. And don’t forget, for the Maasai people, goats and cattle are considered wealth!”
Perhaps those who don’t want me to send a goat to a poor family in Africa or South America are concerned the family might actually . . . (heavens to murgatroid) eat the goat! Goats aren’t perfect for the environment, but neither are people. Maybe the family in Tanzania or Peru would be better off if I just sent a bushel of Brussels spouts?
Anyway, there are little mercies this Christmas season. I’m writing this from a beach in Zihuatanejo, surrounded by Canadians, Americans, and Mexicans from all sorts of religious backgrounds wishing each other a Feliz Navidad. And nobody is telling anyone to say, “Felices Fiestas.”
Every year, I mourn the tradition of saying “Merry Christmas” and I go out of my way to thank people in shops and banks who actually wish me a “Merry Christmas” as opposed to the people (all with the best of intentions) who wish me “Happy Holidays” or “Seasons Greetings,” which is really odd, considering I’m a devout atheist of the Richard Dawkins school of thought, believing more in messages than messengers.
My Christmas is cultural, not religious. I’m as cynical about the three wise men as I am about the Coca-Cola Santa, but like it or hate it, Christmas is still woven into the fabric of western civilization, replacing as it were, the Druid festival of Nolagh, the Roman festival of Saturnalia, and other celebrations that happened around the winter solstice.
But I like it when people say “Merry Christmas” to me. And I like it when Christmas cards say Merry Christmas instead of the bland, milquetoast “I don’t want to offend anyone so I’d better call it Seasons Greetings,” which means absolutely nothing to anyone so it means absolutely nothing offensive to anyone either. (Which Season? Which Greeting?)
Or they wish the recipient Happy Holidays in Cyrillic, Arabic, Hebrew, Chinese, Japanese, and of all things, Klingon; the recipient getting to pick the language of their “Happy Holidays” without having to pick what those holidays might be. The Druid festival of Nolagh? Kwanzaa? Hanukkah? The Taoist celebration of Ta Chiu? All of them happen around the same time of the year. Frankly I’d be thrilled if someone actually sent me a card celebrating Kwanzaa, Nolagh, or Hanukkah!
You’d think in this age of niche marketing when online retailers can pinpoint my buying habits from the cookies on my browser, lawyers would be able to figure out who’d be thrilled to get a Christmas card and who wouldn’t. Alas, we’re stuck with Happy Holidays.
My Jewish, Muslim, and Sikh friends think we’re all stark raving loonies, caught up in political correctness. Then they wish me a Merry Christmas.
Perhaps we should all start sending cards that say: “We’d prefer to wish you a Merry Christmas, but on the off chance it might upset you, we’ve settled for Seasons Greetings in six languages so as not to risk losing your business. Please pick a language and a holiday that works for you and have a Happy Whatever!”
So I just don’t bother anymore. Humbug, I say.
I cringed this year when I was asked to support a holiday tree in, of all places, a shopping mall (doesn’t that say it all). The holiday tree and its worthy supporters wouldn’t call it a Christmas tree, despite my best cajoling and promises of donations. Nope. It’s a holiday tree. “Which holiday?” I asked, not bothering to get an answer. I donated to the food bank instead.
As I’ve said elsewhere and often, when they rename A Charlie Brown Christmas to A Charlie Brown Happy Holiday, or Stuart McLean re-records Dave Cooks the Turkey and calls it Dave Bakes a Salad, I’ll know I’ve lost the battle, and political correctness will have won. Until then, I continue the fight.
Speaking of which, I wanted to donate a goat to a poor family in Africa or South America this Christmas; something encouraged by one of the lawyers in our firm. Then I saw something widely shared on social media telling me not to send animals to third world countries.
Apparently, all 1.5 billion people who would seemingly qualify to receive the goats are lactose intolerant, which is quite a surprise given that I’ve been to Tanzania, Peru, and Ecuador where there are a lot of goats shepherded by lots of people who would otherwise not have goats to milk . . . or meat to eat. I’ve even seen Maasai women milk goats. Who knew they couldn’t drink the stuff!!!
The anti-goat givers say goats use too much water. But don’t we humans use lots of water as well (and don’t goats use less?). They also claim more animals means more mouths to feed, because, (it seems), goats add to a family’s “burden,” and the animals often suffer from neglect, malnutrition, dehydration, lack of medical care, and lack of shelter from temperature extremes.
Surprisingly, just like many of the human beings trying to scratch out a living in those countries, it’s such a burden in the first world to have to worry so much about how the domesticated animals are treated by subsistence farmers and shepherds in the developing world, isn’t it?
Says my colleague: “The boy we sponsor in Uganda takes his Christmas money every year and buys a goat or two. This has been going on for a few years now, and I imagine he has a herd of 20 or 30 goats now. So despite what the activists say on social media, the locals buy goats when they have the opportunity to do so. And don’t forget, for the Maasai people, goats and cattle are considered wealth!”
Perhaps those who don’t want me to send a goat to a poor family in Africa or South America are concerned the family might actually . . . (heavens to murgatroid) eat the goat! Goats aren’t perfect for the environment, but neither are people. Maybe the family in Tanzania or Peru would be better off if I just sent a bushel of Brussels spouts?
Anyway, there are little mercies this Christmas season. I’m writing this from a beach in Zihuatanejo, surrounded by Canadians, Americans, and Mexicans from all sorts of religious backgrounds wishing each other a Feliz Navidad. And nobody is telling anyone to say, “Felices Fiestas.”
