Page A2 / The Joan De Arc Crusader / Wednesday, December 25, 2019

Front Page A1 / Tales from Sahuaro School A3 / Christmas Nostalgia A4 / Crossword A5

“Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is absurd.” – Voltaire

Let’s settle this thing once and for all

     Okay, this has really gone on long enough.
     The Crusader editorial board has decided to take it upon ourselves to resolve, once and for all, and to the complete satisfaction of the entire human race, the seemingly endless dispute regarding the seasonal greetings of “Happy Holidays” vs. “Merry Christmas.”
     First of all, we should mention the curiously overlooked fact that these two greetings co-existed in perfect harmony for many a year before this supposed controversy ever arose. Logically from this simple truth it follows that there is no inherent conflict between these two methods of expressing a friendly bit of holiday cheer. The idea that “Happy Holidays” is a recent contrivance nefariously designed to negate the religious significance of the season is thereby excluded.
     So whence cometh this curious conflict? The simple fact is that we Americans have gradually become a more diverse lot than once we were, and the parameters of holiday celebration in our culture have expanded significantly in accordance with this reality. Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, Yule, Saturnalia, Festivus and myriad other traditions have become increasingly integrated into our holiday mix. “Happy Holidays” seems like nothing more nor less than a well-intentioned attempt at being a little more inclusive about such things.
     The irony of the situation is notable. Here we are in the beautiful and joyous season of “peace on earth and goodwill to men,” angrily taking offense at the way someone chooses to acknowledge the season and say a warm hello to us. Seems almost antithetical to the spirit of the very thing being acknowledged, doesn’t it?
     Look, we simply cannot discern what holiday people celebrate just by looking at them. Unless one has a significant personal familiarity with the recipient of the holiday salutation, there is absolutely no way of knowing whether their preference is “Merry Christmas,” “Happy Holidays,” “Let’s Party” or some other holiday greeting. Or no greeting at all.
     And this is conceivably the very point. Perhaps the person being greeted has no preference whatsoever. Indeed, we are guessing that most people have no real preference in the matter. In any event, you are simply being greeted by a fellow human being in a festive manner during a generally happy time of the year. Respond in the same spirit for crying out loud. Why is this so hard?
     Hmm. Okay, so that probably didn’t resolve the dispute in the slightest. But hey, at least we feel better now. In any case, the Crusader would like to wish all our readers (in alphabetical order) Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Season’s Greetings and/or _______ _______. Just fill in the blanks as you see fit.
     Let’s party.

LETTERS

Memories of the stretchy rubber thing

Tee hee hee. I remember your mom’s stretchy rubber thing! I still have my mom’s wooden paddle (without the ball) with “I hate mom” scratched into it. I remember the Copper Belle too, that was the primo place for birthdays. Also interesting about the Westown architect. Sending subscription money to you, thanks!

                                                                                                Julie Mitchell Munday

                                                                              We welcome your letters at jdacrusader@aol.com. 
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Guest Editorial

Christmas never did seem to age very well

By Barbie Bueker Formichella

     The “holidays” are here and it’s time for Christmas Confessions!
     Ah, Christmas Day, that blank void of hell that takes hold after all the gifts are opened. My memories of the Day after childhood and before parenthood are just that. There’s nothing to do for adolescents on Christmas afternoon; no toys to play with, no friends to hang out with, TV is football and reruns or sappy Christmas concerts.
     The older you got, the more Christmas sucked. Nothing was open, nobody was around, nothing happened. There were no tablets or smartphones or Smart TVs to binge watch on, no Netflix or Candy Crush. Our dad may have tried to entice us into a board game “championship,” but since your job as an adolescent is to sulk, (and I must admit I was pretty good at it) it was usually for naught.
     It wasn’t until college that there was some small relief from the dullness: friends with cars, equally bored, who would come and pick you up and drive through the empty streets searching for some distraction. But pretty soon it would become apparent that this was futile, so back to the house we went for the annual (sigh) viewing of The Wizard of Oz.
     In the context of the adult world, where Christmas is a mad frenzy of shopping, wrapping, decorating, cooking, baking and cleanup, maybe a few empty hours are a good thing. So this year I’m going to return to the traditions of my youth and take a nap on December 25th.
     Merry Christmahanakwanzika!
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‘Twas a Joan De Arc Christmas


(With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the Arc
not a neighbor was stirring, not a Kathy or Mark.
The street lights were on and the kids there all knew
that this was no night for the rules to eschew.

Four tube socks were laid on the piano with care,
since there wasn’t a fireplace to hang underwear.
By morning they’d fill with an oversupply
of candy with price tags from TG&Y.

I and my siblings, and Mother and Dad
had just arrived back from our grandparent’s pad.
With adrenaline and sucrose awash in our heads
we put on our PJs and went to our beds.

While lying awake trying desperately to sleep,
I detected the sounds of a nocturnal creep.
Was that Earl Smith out sneaking a last cigarette
or a slam of the trunk of the Opel Kadett?

Away to the window I flew in a flash,
tossed open the curtains and peered through some trash.
When what were my startled young eyes soon observin’
but a jolly old elf in a Chevy Suburban.

He hadn’t a red suit or even a beard,
as Santas go, he actually looked kinda weird.
But his sack was a-bulging with gifts piled tall
and the names of fine retailers soon peppered his call:

“Now Ryan! Now Evans! Now Roebuck and Sears!
On Diamonds! On Chess King! Bill’s Records bring cheer!
To the end of my credit, with the last cent I own!
Cash away! Cash away! Cash away! (moan)”

That was the last I remember of that night,
the first crack of dawn was my very next sight.
Then G.I Joe dressed up and ready for war,
slot cars and telescopes and clothing galore.

With all the gifts given, and all the gifts taken,
hopes soon arose for some pancakes and bacon.
But the jolly old elf merely said with a yawn,
“Eat your Lifesavers now -- There’s a football game on!”

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________JDA

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