rosie saves christmas
The over-materialism of Christmas certainly bothers me, but I’ve never let it interfere with my love of receiving stuff. I even find that it’s almost better now that I’m a full-grown man and expected to work to buy things on my own. It is good to have an occasion in which people simply give you things just for being around another year or because they love you or you love Jesus or for whatever reason it is that exchange gifts at Christmas.
Yes, but doesn’t the part about buying everyone else a gift sort of even everything out?
Shit. I knew I was suppose to be doing something this week.
To be honest, I really do love receiving more than giving. I find that I tend to get more out of it when I literally get more out of something, but that’s just me. Sure, I’m happy to see that I’ve made those around me happy by giving them things, but not as happy as I am to see how happy they are at seeing my happiness from receiving their gifts.
Then again, there is always that one aunt or uncle who seems to seek out a sweater seemingly comprised of horsehair dyed an assortment of tasteless colors and woven in to the most uninteresting patterns. In those dark moments you have to either feign happiness or hold the damn thing up between you and the family while weeping silently behind it. God help you if someone is wandering about with a video camera to capture the gathering for the ages—although I have given quite a few Oscar worthy performances in Christmases past, if I do say so myself. Meryl freakin’ Streep couldn’t have done a better job of selling my aunt Christine on the pure joy of receiving that Rosie Greer autobiography back in ’93.
Rosie Greer is a self-described “gentle giant”. He was friends with Robert Kennedy and has appeared in a number of paper towel commercials. Mr. Greer is a big fan of simple sentences and large print. His book contained many photographs of Rosie Greer standing with people more interesting than Rosie Greer.
But Rosie did teach me this: the gifts we give at Christmas are important, and shitty gifts can hurt.
Which is precisely why I went with Mrs. Camino to shop for our angel tree child this year. She even let me pick the card off the tree, and I chose a nine-month-old who preferred musical toys. I got the loudest, most obnoxious ones I could find while Mrs. Camino shopped for baby clothes. I don’t know much about babies, but they appear to care very little for fashion.
However, babies seem to be easily amused, and I’m pretty sure we provided a bit of amusement for one little girl. She is probably too young to appreciate the Rosie Greer autobiography I left at the bottom of the bag, but I suppose it is never too early to try and teach the harsh lessons of life.
Yes, but doesn’t the part about buying everyone else a gift sort of even everything out?
Shit. I knew I was suppose to be doing something this week.
To be honest, I really do love receiving more than giving. I find that I tend to get more out of it when I literally get more out of something, but that’s just me. Sure, I’m happy to see that I’ve made those around me happy by giving them things, but not as happy as I am to see how happy they are at seeing my happiness from receiving their gifts.
Then again, there is always that one aunt or uncle who seems to seek out a sweater seemingly comprised of horsehair dyed an assortment of tasteless colors and woven in to the most uninteresting patterns. In those dark moments you have to either feign happiness or hold the damn thing up between you and the family while weeping silently behind it. God help you if someone is wandering about with a video camera to capture the gathering for the ages—although I have given quite a few Oscar worthy performances in Christmases past, if I do say so myself. Meryl freakin’ Streep couldn’t have done a better job of selling my aunt Christine on the pure joy of receiving that Rosie Greer autobiography back in ’93.
Rosie Greer is a self-described “gentle giant”. He was friends with Robert Kennedy and has appeared in a number of paper towel commercials. Mr. Greer is a big fan of simple sentences and large print. His book contained many photographs of Rosie Greer standing with people more interesting than Rosie Greer.
But Rosie did teach me this: the gifts we give at Christmas are important, and shitty gifts can hurt.
Which is precisely why I went with Mrs. Camino to shop for our angel tree child this year. She even let me pick the card off the tree, and I chose a nine-month-old who preferred musical toys. I got the loudest, most obnoxious ones I could find while Mrs. Camino shopped for baby clothes. I don’t know much about babies, but they appear to care very little for fashion.
However, babies seem to be easily amused, and I’m pretty sure we provided a bit of amusement for one little girl. She is probably too young to appreciate the Rosie Greer autobiography I left at the bottom of the bag, but I suppose it is never too early to try and teach the harsh lessons of life.
Next year some kid might get a bicycle and the most repulsive sweater I can find.
posted by Rex L. Camino at 7:33 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home