Spirits of Christmas

Dickens wrote of the Christmas ghosts, the change inherent in one crotchety old man, and the complete turn-around that the ghosts managed to draw out of him through complex time travel. These "spirits of Christmas" embody more of the meaning of Christmas, the more I think about them.

Fingers are twitching to point blame at capitalism and consumerism rotting the true meaning of Christmas away, while feel-good Christmas specials tote the same message from behind the money-stained Hollywood curtains.

The ghost of Christmas past brings memories to the table, and as children, we are the humble employees who are given happiness by the whims of our parents; an entire year can be made or broken by the generosity of a fat man in a red suit, as of yet unrecognizable to us as anything short of a childhood god.

These experiences shape our future, we grow and bear our own children, and become their jolly gift-bearers.

This is when we are visited by the ghost of Christmas present, where we as parents revel in the joys presented to our own. Consumerism may drive us as it does the Jonses, but bliss for most comes from not what is received, for which we could care less, but what is given. We seek those "perfect gifts" like starving coyotes.

The smile on our children's faces is worth every cent, or every hard-earned hour crafting the thing that will bring them more joy than what had brought us, thereby fulfilling a cycle of happiness and decadence that may fuel consumerism, yes, and uplift capitalism, but how important are these concepts really when what we seek is, in truth, that moment of bliss when the wrapping paper is torn away?

And thus comes the ghost of Christmas future when our own children bring the traditions that were brought to us, and the ones we created for them.

What is Christmas then, but a small slice of immortality?