“No Place Like Home”
Going home for the holidays is comforting because it never changes: my grandmother feeds us enough food to induce internal bleeding, and I receive at least eight scarf-glove-hat combos—with no gift receipts. But it wouldn’t really be Christmas without a political debate. After a round of gin and tonic, someone mentions the war in Iraq. Then my uncle pulls out his NRA card while my grandma complains about Mexicans and my dad starts talking about the Battle of Antietam, because my dad can turn anything into an excuse to talk about the Civil War. (I don’t get it either) My aunt eventually brings up the environment, and my mom complains about Starbucks coffee. Everyone ostracizes me, the vegetarian, and belittles PETA. Luckily, everyone passes out from overeating before we get to universal health care. Thanks, grandma.
—Madeline Reidy (COL ‘09)
“Emperor Penguin”
When the movie March of the Penguins was released, I realized I had a long-suppressed affinity for penguins. Since then, all default presents from my family—for both my birthday and Christmas, which are less than two weeks apart,—have been penguin-themed. I have been bombarded with penguin paraphernalia ranging from stuffed animals and socks to mechanical singing trios and personalized stationary. This year, though, my mother outdid herself. Not wanting me to miss out on any holiday cheer during the final weeks of the semester, she insisted that I return to campus after Thanksgiving break with an early Christmas present—a four-foot-tall inflatable penguin complete with Santa hat and candy-cane-striped scarf. Her idea was for me to put him on my balcony facing the LXR courtyard to bring joy and Christmas spirit to all passersby. But much to the relief of my roommate, he is still safe and sound inside his box, until my mother reads this.
—Lynn Kirshbaum (SFS ‘10)
“So That’s Why Mom Kissed Santa”
I was in third grade, or thereabouts, and it was Christmas Eve. Naturally, sleep was not an option for my anxious little body as I convulsed with thoughts of violently-themed toys and the horrible, horrible things I would do to my sister upon receiving said toys. All the jittering must have irritated my bladder, because I had to pee. As I scurried down the hallway to the bathroom, I noticed my father hunched beside the Christmas tree, finagling what could only be the best present ever: a GI Joe Battle Tank. Sweet Emmanuel! Santa must’ve come already! I scampered back to bed undetected. The next morning my father proudly presented the gift, explaining that Santa Claus had stuck around to assemble the thing. But wait—I thought I saw you … oh. Worst Christmas ever.
—Traviss Cassidy (SFS ‘09)
“Life’s A Torah-nament”
Every kindergarten has a fall art project, right? Something relatively danger-free that children can take home and show their parents. Bonus points if it’s nominally useful and doesn’t get thrown out right away or abandoned on the mantle. At my Jewish private school, we constructed menorahs out of wood, using lug nuts to hold the candles in place, and then spray-painted the menorahs gold or silver. A traditionalist even at that age, my menorah was symmetrical, classical and, in my mind, an example of the power of established forms. Meanwhile, my brother built his menorah low to the ground and put all the candles on one side. As I saw it, he had radically challenged the conventional form merely for the sake of sparking controversy. We used these menorahs for years, until the nuts fell off and the wax from the used candles covered the peeling paint. Always a critic, I still resent my brother’s controversial design concept. That’s the spirit of Channukah, I guess—deeply ingrained, long lasting, resentful competition.
—Shira Hecht (COL ‘10)
“Critical Mass”
My father is a pastor, but our family’s celebration of Jesus’ birthday are anything but traditional. He is a Korean pastor, and that changes things. On Christmas morning, my father forces our entire family to attend the first round of service at our church, which begins at dawn. When it ends around noon, the rest of the congregation goes home to enjoy a traditional Christmas lunch. But at my house, Christmas lunch consists of anything from leftover kimchee scavenged from the refrigerator to microwaveable burritos from Costco. After barely finishing our lunch, we head back to church for a second round of service, this one consisting of caroling, Sunday school skits and the always climactic appearance of, yes, Asian Santa. As a child, I was always confused by the fact that Santa, who bore an uncanny resemblance to my uncle, only had half a beardshy;shy;shy;shy;shy;shy;shy;—his five o’clock shadow.
—David Lee (NHS ‘10)
This Georgetown Life is a collection of stories written by Georgetown students all based on the same theme. [Cue trendy jazz music.]
