Is Christmas over yet?

Asher believes in Santa Claus, and whenever he talks about Santa or his goddam sleigh, I feel the tinny acid of water brash swell at the back of my throat. I’m not a hater. Really. I have nothing against Santa or Christmas. Why, some of my best friends are of the Gentile persuasion. I’ve even carolled once in my youth. I would have carolled more often if not for my categorical opposition to spending so much time in the cold that my nostrils stick together when I breathe in frozen air. No cookie is worth losing the feeling in my toes to sing about King Wenceslas no matter how catchy the tune.

It’s stuck in my head now. Good King Wen-ces-las looked out....

Gabriella: What are you singing?!?

Deborah: Good King Wenceslas.

G: What?

D: You know. The Christmas song.

G: No.

D: Yes, you do. I’m a Jew, and I know that song. Good King Wen-ces-las looked out, on the Feast of Stephen. Where the snow lay round a-bout, deep and crisp and...

G: Don’t know it.

D: What? Didn’t you sing Christmas songs as a kid?

G: I’m Italian. We didn’t sing those songs.

D: You may be Italian, but you grew up in Queens.

I listed all the songs that have been burned into my brain from my childhood-all the songs we had to learn in school and that played relentlessly in shops and on the radio and on Christmas television specials for as long as I can remember. Silent Night, Little Drummer Boy, Jingle Bells, O Come All Ye Faithful, Little Town of Bethlehem...she knew them all. She knew them all except for Good King Wenceslas. Go figure. Leave it to the Jew to find the Christmas song that the Italian who attended Christ the King Regional High School didn’t know.

No Jew can escape Christmas unless you pack it up and get a round trip ticket to Indonesia on Garuda Airlines leaving the day after Halloween and returning Presidents Day. That’s why I always had the Tree Talk with everyone I ever dated. There are certain things girls talk about on a first or second date because these topics are possible deal breakers. Answers tip the scale when there’s a question as to whether or not we have met our ideal match. Having children, politics and acceptable levels of alcohol consumption rank high on the deal-breaker list. On my first date, I talk tree. There has never been nor will there ever be a spruce, pine or fir tree of any kind in my house-real or artificial, adorned or not, in December or around Jesus’s actual birthday-whenever that might have been. Yes, I am aware that the tree is a pagan symbol of Winter Solstice. I'm not pagan, and that tree is not called a Winter Solstice Tree. It's a Christmas tree, and I don't celebrate Christmas. I get enough Christmas the minute I leave my house, thank you very much. The walls of my house are packed solid with Jew-sulation to keep Christmas out all year round.

Movies are the exception to the rule. What? I’m allowed a loophole for the sake of art. Miracle on 34th Street (the original), It’s a Wonderful Life and of course The Year without a Santa Claus-love that Heat Miser!

Asher has yet to see a single one of them, but we’ll watch them together one of these years. In the meantime, he’s learning all about Santa Claus in public school. He’s convinced that bearded pervert knows when he is sleeping and when he’s awake. I’d like to knee that oversized elf in the Jingle Bells, for goodness sake.

And now that we’re living in New Jersey, we’ve got to celebrate Christmas with Gabriella’s family. Our first 5 years together, we were Jew-sulated in Chicago. The next 7 years, we avoided Christmas in London. But...now, that there’s no place to hide-since you pushed this Jew aside... What? Isn’t that what Sandy is singing? No? The point is that as long as we’re in the tri-state area, our Jewish kids will celebrate Christmas, and I’m trying not to have a conniption about it.

The good news is that Gabriella’s family’s version of Christmas is eating, drinking and being merry without ever once talking about Jesus. There are plenty of “OH MY GWAAAWD!”s in Queens, but little of it has anything to do with the Lord. I do have to deal with Santa talk, however. Zia Lina told Asher that Santa left some gifts for him at her house this year, and he was most pleased. sigh.

I know many of you are yelling at your monitor, “Get over it, Deborah!!” Well, I hear you, and I agree. Mommy’s family celebrates Christmas, and the boys should celebrate with them. Asher and Levi are Jewish, and no Christmas dinner will change that. They might choose to convert one day (and metaphorically drive a rusty saw through my heart), but they’ll have to test their unborn children for Tay-Sachs just the same. No, I meant to say that I’ll always love them and respect their choices or something politically correct and insincere like that.

Truth be told, we had a fantastic night in Queens on the 24th. You can call it Christmas dinner, but I’ll leave Christ out of it. I sleep better that way. I was in such a good mood that I decided to wait until next year to teach Asher all about Saint Nicholas, Christian martyrdom and the fabrication of Santa Claus by mass media in the United States. Bah humbug yourself!

The boys were up until all hours, and they got to open some presents before we loaded up the car to enjoy a traffic-free drive through the Mid-town and Lincoln tunnels. Before we buckled Asher into his booster seat, he yelled back to La Famiglia, “Happy Christmas!!” I'm proud of my son for the unsolicited well wishes. He’s a good boy-a real mensch.