Ah! Winter holidays! Growing up, this was one of those awkward times of year where I had difficulty pinpointing exactly where I belonged in the societal scheme of things (though that confusion never stopped me from playing “Carol of the Bells” on the piano over and over and over again from Thanksgiving until sometime around Passover). So when my dad asked me the other day over Skype if Christian was dragging me into his Christmas celebrations, I had a long pause.
If anything, I’m dragging poor Christian into celebrating Christmas. The poor guy is pretty content to reminisce about his perfect European childhood Christmases, and leave the present to fate. Afterall, living in China, no one will blame us if we skip a holiday here or there. I, on the other hand, have taken his stories, ripped them apart and reassembled them with challah and fried rice and a sprinkling of whatever random tradition I can get my hands on.
Which is how we ended up with a Christmas bush this year. Well, that and I wasn’t ready for another year of arguing over who’s concept of a plastic Christmas tree is more tree like. Nico thought the idea was great and after helping me string ornaments on the bush, he proceeded to disassemble pine cones in his own postmodern celebration.