Dick Summer Connection

Screw the cynics. I don’t care if Christ was born on December 25^th or not. I don’t want to hear “We know it couldn’t have been in the winter because the shepherds were in the fields with their flocks and so it must have been in the spring…blah, blah, blah.” My Lady Wonder Wench and I have a great Christmas tree; our very old home made star is shining at the top; the living room smells like Santa’s after shave; my brother John and his wife Beth are coming to visit; our friends Bob and Carine, Mike and Ruth, Al and Vigi, Randy and Bernadette will be stopping by, our kids and grandkids will be on the phone, and Lady Wonder Wench has promised to wear her two piece just for me on Christmas Eve. And the Christmas podcast caught some of the magic. So Merry Christmas.

I open presents on Christmas Eve, because ever since Santa brought me a toy airplane that really flew when I was a kid, I lose control of my eyebrows under that kind of pressure. They tend to flip up and down. And my nose and my left ear wiggles. They also do that when my Lady Wonder Wench walks into the room wearing something she says is “a little more comfortable.” Especially when it’s her “two piece.” That’s what I call her slippers. Cynics say “you’ve got to be kidding after you’ve been together all this time.” And in a way, they’re right. I like to kid with people I care about.

When you think about it, Christmas is magic. And like any magic, it depends on making the kid inside us happy. Cynics don’t really think things through. They say things like: “Boiled milk ??? LOUIE…are you nuts ?” “George Herman Ruth, you put that baseball away right this instant. Come in here and study so you can make something of yourself!” “Those nutty bicycle builders Wilbur and Orville were in here at the bank again looking for a loan. I told them to go fly a kite.”

It’s safer being a cynic. They figure, “Why take chances ?” Most new and different ideas fail. So if you’re a cynic you get to say, “Ha…I told you so.” And if it doesn’t fail, you get to point out that it’s not perfect. You get to say things like, “Hey… did you hear…there was another plane crash. Those Wright guys should be STOPPED.”

Cynics really can’t stand Christmas wrapping paper. “Why put fancy paper around that box. Somebody’s just going to tear it off anyway.” And cynics would freak at the way Santa gives my Lady Wonder Wench her present from me. He tucks a note into her Christmas stocking with a clue to where it’s hidden. That clue leads to another note hidden somewhere else. There are usually four or five clues she has to follow to find her present. It makes her laugh. And I love her Christmas laugh. 

Cynicism is not a childhood disease. You have to “Grow Up” to get it. There are no cynical kids. That’s one of the things that makes Christmas special. For a little while we get to feel like kids. That’s especially good for those of us who are members of the Louie-Louie Generation. We’ve arrived at a time when our lives are really clicking…our knees, our fingers, our necks…we’re a noisy bunch. We’d be in really big trouble if wrinkles hurt. 

You also have to Give Up to become a cynic. Columbus couldn’t have been a cynic. He said, “I’m going to sail west to get to India which is east of here.” The cynics said, “Go ahead, but I’m not going with you because you’ll just sail off the edge of the earth.” But he went anyway and eventually landed in San Salvador, thought it was India and claimed it for Spain, and has ever since been given credit for discovering America, although there were lots of people already here who discovered it a long, long time ago. If Columbus were a cynic, he wouldn’t have gone because he’d have been afraid that other guys in puffy hats and pantaloons would laugh at him…and we’d still be speaking Iroquois.

Speaking of speaking, I hope you’ll take the time to give a listen to the current podcast. There is some Christmas stuff in it that I really want to tell you about, but I just can’t put into writing. Funny thing about my head. It would rather use my mouth than my fingers when I’m telling you something that comes from my heart. And that’s where I’ve kept Christmas ever since I first heard Mom and Dad helping Santa put up the tree downstairs in our Brooklyn living room all those years ago.

I really don’t care when Christ was born. I don’t even care if Christ was the “Son of God.” He gave us lots of good ideas and lots of love. So of course the cynics crucified Him. Because cynics are always afraid of new ideas. And there’s no room at all for love in a cynic’s life. Love is reckless and hot. And cynics are always carefully Kool.

I figure, even if you don’t believe in Christ, you’ve got to admit His birthday celebration is pretty neat. So is Hanukkah, Qwanza, Solstice, and any other holiday that involves music, candles, good stuff to eat, and loving. Lots of loving.

So, screw the cynics. Merry Christmas.

This entry was posted on Saturday, December 18th, 2010 at 4:45 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.