THERE’S NO CHRISTMAS SPIRIT
“We’re not going to have Christmas this year, Dad.”
“Why not, Darius?”
“Because no one has any Christmas Spirit in this house. No one cares about tradition. Nobody is doing anything. It’s sickening.”
“Are you a little upset, Darius?”
“Upset, Dad? Upset? No! I’m not upset. I’m disgusted. Why don’t you care about Christmas? Why isn’t Mommy doing anything? Why aren’t you doing anything? Where are the decorations? Where are the ...”
“Darius,” I interrupted, “we are doing traditional things. Mommy has Mitra’s needlepoint stocking out and..”
“Yeah, Dad, she’s got it out, but she’s not doing anything with it. It’ll never be finished.”
“That’s tradition, Darius. Tradition - a wonderful thing.”
“Dad!”
“Yes, Darius?”
“That’s disgusting.”
Darius, while typically annoying, was also correct. Prinsevinkenpark, 42 didn’t have the seasonal feel. Christmas shopping hadn’t begun, the tree hadn’t been installed, Christmas cookies hadn’t been made, cards not only hadn’t been mailed, they hadn’t even been purchased. It wasn’t as if we didn’t have enough warning - the Dutch shops had been promoting Christmas since September. The problem was logistics. We had visitors - parental visitors - who took lots of time. We had colds. We had play practice. We had, well, we had waited too long. We were behind.
Darius wasn’t the only person with problems. Mitra was swamped in schoolwork. The singing role in Oliver had her in endless rehearsals. She volunteered for the speech and debate team - before finding about their rehearsal schedule. She was a Chem Lab assistant. She was defense attorney in a mock trail for English class. Her French book report - on the 500 page ‘Le Fantome de L’Opėra’ was due. (Her friends read things like the 50 page “Newcomers Guide to Paris”.) Mitra was reacting to the overload situation by shedding ‘unimportant’ tasks. For many children this would have meant things like bed making, clothes picking up and other routine household tasks. Mitra, however, had already shed that load. Her response was to scatter homework around the house, to first forget, and then lose, her locker key (her house key, her replacement locker key) her bus pass, her homework,... It was really getting out of control - she was beginning to remind us of Darius.
Nazy, too, was swamped. While she had enjoyed her parents’ visit, she had concluded that daily entertaining chores were rapidly eating into her time. She wasn’t amused by needlepoint jokes, she didn’t even have time to make Christmas cookies. Everyone could tell that it was a major disaster - even Nazy had been unable to find time to go shopping.
I was also overwhelmed. Shell was in the midst of the annual reorganization. My mentor - the one responsible for the family relocation – wasn’t going to be part of the new organization. The CMD would be meeting in extraordinary session to endorse continuation of the project and, coincidentally, my job. I wasn’t worried. Annoyed, dismayed, besieged, disgruntled, but not worried.
Only Melika was calm, serene and totally prepared. Typically, she had saved her allowance and had enough money to buy presents. Mitra tried, but her nest egg had been markedly diminished by required, regular, purchases of replacement locker keys, house keys and tram passes. Darius? Let’s just say that his body contained a chemical compound which created a flammable mixture in any pocket containing money. Melika had selected and wrapped each present. She had even decided on what she wanted from Santa Claus - a real cat.
The good news: the current overload situation was coming to an end. Guest departure, the play, the speech tournament, the CMD meeting - were all scheduled for mid-December. If we could stay alive until then it would be strictly downhill.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Darius?”
“Melika wants a cat for Christmas.”
“A cat, Darius?”
“Yeah, Dad, a cat. Is she going to get one?”
“Darius, a cat is a big responsibility. Where would we put it when we went on vacation? Who would feed it? How could we get it back into the States when we move? Don’t you think that a cat is an unrealistic request?”
“Maybe, Dad. But she really wants a cat. Do you think she’ll get one?”
