My Christmas Confession
Some of my earliest memories include arguing with my all-too-patient mother about god and religion and sadly I never took the chance to adequately apologize to her for her troubles. I’m not a spiritual person gifted with faith, preferring to rely on what physics, math, and chemistry can explain. Of course, this rules out my believing that little green, grey or purple aliens are out to get us for our beautiful planet. They certainly may be, but without proof I’m content to believe that they are just watching our craziness.
To summarize, no belief systems, no spirituality, no belief in the beauty of paganism that was cut short by the patriarchal religions springing from the Judeo-Christian mélange.
Embarrassingly I am addicted to Christmas movies and I cry during nearly every one.
There are three plot lines that these movies can contain, and each one is a bit like winning the lottery:
There’s the widow(er) still in their child rearing prime who have lost their significant other to accident or illness. They must have a one amazing child and they must heroically abandon themselves to the needs of said child. Most importantly, no dating during the regulated movie mourning period, usually two years. The mourning period allows the lead to regain purity, especially a female lead. The child involved is never more than ten and never under five, so they’re aware but lack any hint of sexuality.
There’s the never married work-a-holic who is returning home wealthy but unfulfilled, usually with a divorce in the background if they are double xx chromosome to drive home this so not subtle subtext. They almost never have kids and the unfulfilled trope usually gets echoed by a long suffering mother or a sweet as Mary Poppins Grandparent. The work-a-holic must find that the cosmic love interest they hate at first is actually sweet as cinnamon toast, once they come to know them within two to four weeks. Then they need to overcome one more story hurdle before they will live together without a care in the world. Yeah, the work-a-holic’s always that rich.
Of course we have the timeworn tale of the prince from another land who meets a woman after he’s injured or stranded by a storm. By the way there has never been a princess in this role in the history of movies, a president’s daughter is acceptable but everyone knows female royalty remain at home, legs secured against entry. The woman who the prince falls for must be somewhat of a loner, but loved by everyone. She’s bright, witty, never has a bad hair day and loves both children and dogs. Invariably, in the prince’s small European country everyone speaks American English except for the mean spirited autocratically inclined woman that the prince is supposed to marry. She speaks in aristocratic British or a Czech accented English.
Sometimes a mother must die prior to the story starting, but if death does come during the movie it’s usually an incredibly old side character whose death informs the main character’s journey. Sometimes there are monetary troubles, but these are usually papered over by a stroke of luck, or the love of a good man. Trope never seems to get in the way of a tawdry Christmas tale, or my crying while watching.
Sadly, when I watch alone the tears can go on for half an hour, including when I am fast forwarding through commercials. Watching me cry during these maudlin flicks has become an irresistible spectator sport for my family. Thank goodness I’ve kept this secret from my friends.
My distributor of choice for my addiction is Lifetime. The other major purveyor of pablum, Hallmark, is too sappy and too religious for me. Plus Lifetime has “more realistic” story lines that even allow a woman to be divorced without the ex being an alcoholic or an inmate. And better looking leads. I may be a romantic fool, but I am still a man.
During the average holiday season I probably watch all or part of twenty five movies, ranging from maudlin to execrable. If there is a recovery program for treacle, please let me know because I need an intervention.