Acts of God, As Seen From A Mall
By Shel Desormeaux

Christmas is two months away.

Did that hurt?  I’m sorry.  Truly I am.

I dislike Christmas immensely, and that’s a shame.  It’s a beautiful time of year, in sentiment and appearance.  As a Canadian, I’ve got a soft spot for our winters in all their harshness, because frankly there are few things more beautiful.

But I still don’t like Christmas. I don’t like malls any other time of year.  I don’t like fighting my way through crowds of nasty sweaty people who can’t seem to figure out why their squalling children are so bloody upset.  I can.  You’re hauling these poor little things around a stinky mall, you’re buying wrapping paper and Scotch tape and a stupid crock-pot and you won’t spring for a lousy action figure.  See, kids have it figured out.  They don’t like malls unless they can get something out of ‘em.  That’s rational.  Malls don’t have anything else to offer.

A mall isn’t a spiritual refuge for the average person.  Many a clothing store has left blackened bite marks in my soul.  I understand why salespeople are embittered, I really do.  I’ve worked retail, I know people are needy and whiny, and this is in the off-season.  Christmas brings out the bitch in everyone.

Ah, but right now the little ones (and the big ones) have the Sears Christmas Wish Book out, and that bad boy will be dog-eared soon enough.  I confess that even I find it a compelling study.  It helps me, with two young nephews and two little lady friends, to keep on top of whatever the hell the toy companies are cranking out these days.

What saves this season for me is shopping for kids.  That’s the only part of it that puts me in the spirit even remotely.  I’m of the opinion that the children in my life should have as much as I can give them of myself or anything else.  I’m very fortunate that all of those kids have been raised to be very thankful for everything they get.

Many aren’t, unfortunately, which is no fault of their own.  I can’t expect children to be grateful if their parents never learned to be.  And so, although I know it doesn’t make any sense, I’ve felt in the past that I had to go out of my way for all of the adults I buy for too (I don’t lump my parents in with this lot; they raised me and gave me all they could.  The least I can do is try to return the favor).  My sisters and I are getting to the point now where we get each other cards and silly little things, which is good for all of us because there are lots of kids who get squat for whatever reason, in a country where that sort of shit should not be happening.  It’s disheartening and frustrating and just plain stupid.

Then this year, there have been, what, three hurricanes tearing the lower east coast to shreds?  Never mind Game Boys, these kids don’t have houses.  As I write this, Mount St. Helens is about to bubble over.  Hundreds of American children are parentless this year.  Thousands of Iraqi children are parentless as well, and many of those find themselves limbless.  I’ll thank you on their behalf, President Bush, even though their failure to put up a Christmas tree every year may result in many of us forgetting all about them.

Ho ho ho.

So I’ve got to start my Christmas shopping soon.  The meandering about the Eaton Center will begin.  I’ve got to dig out the decorations for Yule.  I’m not Christian by the way, I’m a Pagan, but the rest of my loved ones are not, and so outside of my own home, I celebrate what they do.  But the sentiment is the same:  Yule, Christmas, Hanukkah… all times for giving, sharing, wishing the best for people, giving thanks for hauling our carcasses through another ass-busting year.  So what do you say?  We’ve been sucking at that in recent years.  Think we can try it?

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