Growing up in Canada I went to public school where Christmas was of course a dominant social theme. However I, being totally ‘in on it’, was the Grinch who stole Christmas for many many children as my second grade self would go around telling his fellow class mates that Santa Caluse wasn’t real. And neither was the Easter Bunny for that matter. All the while I would feast on candy canes and indulge in the seasonal classroom activities as little children around me cried. That was 1990.
Fast forward 16 years later: On an archaeological dig in my parent’s refrigerator I discover deep within its darkest confines a hidden treasure. A small round box covered in golden wrapping paper pasted there with cheap Elmer white glue. With decorative Christmas mistletoe hieroglyphs on the outside and a magazine cutout of a polar bear on skis for a top. It is home to two small pieces of classroom-made chocolates in the shape of snowflakes.
An ancient artifact from a grade two art class where I skipped home after school humming Christmas carols and with both of my tiny little sticky hands grasping this tiny little sticky gift, I presented it to my mother with a grin on my face as wide as the winter horizon.
At the time, she opened it and inquired: “where are the rest of the chocolates?”
Tis the season, eh?
It’s good to be home.