Pull My Finger Santa

We have a Pull-My-Finger Santa. I don’t know exactly who purchased this charming treat of Christmas Cheer, though I’m sure someone had a few too many eggnogs when designing Jolly Old St. Flatulence. It may have been a Yankee Swap gift that went horribly wrong. All I know is, I have not changed the battery in three years and remarkably, that Duracell is going STRONG. My kids pull that finger four-hundred times a day from now to Christmas.

We’ve tried losing this Santa, but he keeps turning up. Last year it was my daughter’s turn to squirrel him away under her bed, in a dark corner with discarded toys probably covered in lead paint from China. She found him again, triumphantly mind you, two days ago.

There is something sacrilegious about maligning Santa’s image with a Fart-o-Claus, but at least he is amusing. What are not amusing are recent news reports attacking Christmas once again. Shopping Mall Santa’s in Australia can no longer say “Ho Ho Ho” because it might offend women?!

I’m offended someone would even think so.

Once we enter the world of extreme political correctness, Orwellian Thinkspeak takes over our lives. Well, maybe not our lives, but certainly the brains of some otherwise fine folk. Take for instance the recent cancellation of a Winchester seventh grade field trip to see Miracle on 34th Street because some parents complained about the nature of the play. In particular, Santa Claus.

Winchester fell into the rabbit hole; at least, the principal of McCall middle school did. Students and parents are disappointed because the complaints of a few turned out to affect so many. What happened to permission slips? When did field trip permission become a zero- sum game?

Heck, we haven’t even celebrated Thanksgiving yet. This brings me to another round of revisionist history: Thanksgiving as a day of mourning in America, to Native Americans. Yes, Native Americans were shoved off their land and treated horribly by settlers. But the holiday is about the results of peace and cooperation between the pilgrims and the Native Americans. Why not celebrate that, try to recapture that, not only between the cultures but also in our everyday lives. Thanksgiving is more than just a chance to slave over a hot stove for two days. It is more than turkey and cranberry sauce and football.

At low moments in our lives, finding something to be thankful for is tough work. When a spouse loses a job and a family worries about making a mortgage or rent payment or putting food on the table, it is hard to be thankful. When a loved on is terribly injured or seriously ill, the fear becomes all-consuming. When someone dies, the grief can torture us into despair.

Finding something to be thankful for in those moments is not easy. Families in our community suffer today with budget busting bills, children battling cancer and other major health issues, and older residents choosing between heat and medication.

The day-to-day mundane plod can leave me frustrated with the state of my kitchen sink, annoyed by bills, or irritated by dirt tracked across a clean floor. The doodles of a four year old on freshly painted walls, the pile of laundry that faces me daily hardly seeming to diminish. However, my worries are nothing when compared to the magnitude of another.

In a rare moment of clarity, I am thankful for my sink full of dishes, because I have a family to feed. I am thankful for the dirt on my floor, the bedoodled wall, the never-ending laundry, because they represent my children who, if I’m fortunate, will someday grow up and move somewhere close by.

As a sidebar, I am thankful for my neighbors that keep their lawns meticulous, because they encourage me to do better. I am thankful for those neighbors whose yards need some work too, because they make mine look good. Well, better.

To those who find it hard to celebrate this Thanksgiving know that there are many in our communities that care about you. I talk to them. Try to take a little time this week to count your blessings, big and small. You may be surprised at how many you can count.

I plan to use the same rationale with my family when I burn the turkey. Count the blessings of your brother, your sister, your home, your family, your dog, your cat, your unburned mashed potatoes, your apple pie…

Here’s to a happy, top-button-open-on-the-pants sort of Thanksgiving.