My father (OK, not really)

Oh boy! The holidays are upon us.

My loathing for this time of year approaches Grinch-like status. It begins with the commercialization of the holiday, continues with the idealized expectations shown in endless Christmas specials and jewelry commercials and ends with the hope that your family is somehow going to measure up to the brain-washing you've just received. Fat chance.

You know what? I don't need any presents. Give me your time. If you're a friend to me, let's set a time when we can talk. We can talk about whatever you like. I don't care. Your time is more valuable to me than any goo-gaw, fruitcake, Christmas card, or trinket you've imagined. Give me your time and I'll give you mine. Unlike what you hear on TV, my friends, THAT is priceless.

To make matters worse, God help us, we're having a gift exchange at work. How does this happen? Why is it that we decide to give gifts to people you barely know? Don't get me wrong! I'd love to know many of them better, but I don't yet.

I thought it couldn;t get worse but, we're doing a "screw your neighbor" game too. Good Lord. Now your gift is opened in front of everyone and its merit judged by whether it's stolen by other people you barely know. Somehow this feels like junior high all over again.

Here's hoping we all pass muster and get to know each other more before the gifts are opened.

Note: You know this song from a million Christmases. I'm not a big fan of Christmas music anyway (surprise!), but here's a nice rendition of this song from James Taylor.

Note again: I resisted the urge to link to a picture of Pat Robertson for the fruitcake. That's my present to you.