My feelings about Christmas are complicated. There are numerous legitimate reasons why, which I won’t go into. But they are there, and they have left me feeling and seeming like a villain in a Christmas movie. I don’t love Christmas (any more). I have heard enough carols. I have seen too many Santa Clauses. I don’t care much for Christmas trees, or elves, or angels. The lights and decorations overwhelm, rather than delight me. I am not proud of this disdain. I disappoints me that I ended up this way.

Still, I have made an effort for today and tomorrow—the second “COVID-ruined” Christmas without travel to the actual Christmas-celebrating side of our family—to be nice for my family. I cooked a big dinner tonight, using an Omaha Steaks package my mom bought us, invited my in-laws over the share it with us, and we had a very nice time. We even played bingo (my kids love bingo) together after dinner. Thanks to a lot of effort from my wife and myself, the bottom floor of our house is clean and ready for more company tomorrow, when my brother-in-law’s family and my in-laws come over. We are having a Jewish Christmas party, I guess, though we will be ordering Kosher deli instead of Chinese food because of my son’s sesame allergy.

Even though we are a Jewish household, I grew up with Christmas, and want my kids to have some special memories associated with it, even if the trappings of Christmas aren’t really for me anymore. I want them to remember that Christ is not about presents and Santa; it’s about family.