College midterms had just been finished, and I was sitting out in the snow on an almost empty bus bench. The bench was “almost empty”, because there was another college student waiting for the bus with me. He was sleeping on the far side of the bench, lying on his side and snoring softly. I didn’t really know him, but I knew of him. He was part of the “punk rock” group, those that really didn’t care about school or anything in general. Well, I wasn’t sure about the school part, since most of them were the best students in the entire college. Everything I heard about him and his “crowd” was probably just a stereotype anyway.
I recognized him by his long, shaggy, orange-blonde hair. With that mat of hair he would stand out in any crowd. Of course, he obviously didn’t think he stood out enough and decided to wear bright clothes along with his bizarre hair. His shirt was bright yellow, the kind of yellow that made you want to ask him if he was gay, only you wouldn’t for fear of getting a beating. Over the shirt he wore a tatty, bright green jacket, but to say it was tatty was an understatement. The cuffs of his sleeves were held together by only a few strands of cloth. And to top it off, he was wearing blue denim pants. I would usually think nothing wrong with this “normal” type of pants, but when accompanied by the rest of the clothes he wore, it just didn’t seem right.
A snort and a moan escaped the lips of the Punk Rocker as he adjusted himself. I somewhat envied him and his ability to sleep on the cold, hard bench, because I too wanted to sleep. However, my conflicting thoughts prevented me from doing so.
It was now Christmas break, and I was going home to my waiting family. We would eat a hefty dinner, sharing our toils and troubles and having a laugh all the while. We would praise Jesus at our church and give thanks for all he has done for us. And after that, we would all sit around the Christmas tree, share our presents with one another and have fun telling the story of Santa Claus to the little ones.
Even with all that to look forward to, something was bothering me. There didn’t seem to be a single solid theme to what Christmas was all about. There was jolly old Saint Nick, the supposed birth of Jesus Christ, and even Hanukkah. Are we supposed to only celebrate one of them, because there could only be one true reason to celebrate on Christmas? Or do we celebrate all of them, so none of the traditions are spurned? What was the true meaning of Christmas?
“I believe I can answer that question for you, sir,” said a deep, happy voice from behind me.
Turning around, I saw Santa standing behind me. I had seen countless representations of Santa in advertisements, cartoons, and movies. And every single feature they spoke of was correct. He wore red clothes and a hat with white cotton trim. He was incredibly plump, and his coat looked like it was having trouble holding in his gut. His face was adorned by a long, white beard which reached down to his chest. And across his shoulder he carried the large red trademark bag of toys.
“Santa?” was all I could say. I felt pretty foolish at this point, because I had just remembered a conversation with a friend long ago on what would be the first thing we would say to Santa if he appeared before us. I said I would ask why he didn’t get me the G.I. Joe Cobra Command Base one Christmas, because I was good the whole year round. At the moment though, I didn’t have the balls to ask it.
Santa smiled at me, and said, “Yes. I am Santa Claus. As I just said, I believe I can answer your question about the true meaning of Christmas.”
“You can?” I asked, to which Santa nodded.
By this time, the Punk Rocker beside me was now sitting up. He began moving, moaning all the way, when I first heard the deep voice of Santa. He looked at Santa with hardly any surprise, as if he had seen Santa every day. Maybe he was still too tired to realize Santa Claus was standing before him. I was pretty sure once he realized the fact, he would be apologizing for all the bad things he had done over the years.
“You have asked what the true meaning of Christmas is,” began Santa. “So I shall now share with you the truth. It is the season of giving! A time of sharing and excitement! The time to share joy, wealth, and happiness with your family and the rest of the world! It is the day when I go out to every good boy and girl and give them gifts to show my appreciation to them! Christmas is a time of celebration!”
Now, hearing the truth from Santa was good and all, but I’ve already heard it all in the past. But now that I knew it was the “true” truth, it made me feel a whole lot better.
“I fear you are wrong, nonbeliever,” said a voice.
Turning, I saw none other than Jesus walking towards us. Just like Santa, all the art, movies, and Bible depictions were correct in the way he looked. He wore a gray robe around his shoulders, and had no shoes upon his feet. His long, brown hair and beard covered most of his face, but I still could see the happy and content look upon his face.
As with Santa, the Punk Rocker didn’t take much notice of the arrival of Jesus. I, on the other hand, was freaking out. Before me was the son of God, and I kept thinking he was here to commit the Rapture instead of sharing with me his truth about Christmas. Santa too was astonished by Jesus’ appearance and was now sporting a frown instead of a smile.
“Christmas is not about giving presents or being merry,” began Jesus. “It is a day of celebration, but of a different kind. It is the day I came into this world, born from my mother Mary and set down into a manger. It is the day of remembrance to honor me, the son of God, who died for humanity’s sins. Christmas is a time of worship!”
I was now totally confused. Santa had just told me the true purpose of Christmas, and now Jesus had given his own version. Was a menorah going to come forward now and tell me to celebrate Hanukkah? Each of them was giving a good argument, so who was I to believe? Only one of them could be true, so—
“Will you two just shut the hell up!” yelled the Punk Rocker. All three of us stared at him in astonishment: Me, Santa, and Jesus. I couldn’t really believe it. Not only did this rebel against society tell Santa to shut up, but Jesus, who was the son of God. I wanted to tell him to cool it, because he may just have damned his soul, but he continued to scream at the two Christmas figures.
“You want to know what Christmas is all about? It’s a damn joke! I worked my ass off these past few months so I could stay in college and be able to get a degree someday! Christmas is my time to sit back and relax from all that shit, hence the term ‘Christmas Vacation’. I got no time to be celebrating, getting and giving gifts, or honoring the birth of Jesus, our Lord and Savior.”
Pointing his finger at Jesus, he said, “I’m sorry to say this, but most people seem to care more for your death rather than your birth, which isn’t a very nice thought if you ask me! And Santa!” now pointing at him. “Stop thinking there are good and lovely people in this world! We’re all just a bunch of fat, greedy, materialistic pigs that don’t care about ‘being good’! Now let me get some sleep! I got to come back here in two weeks, and I want to enjoy every second I can!”
With that said, the Punk Rocker laid back down to sleep. I was amazed at what he had said, and I was sure both Santa and Jesus would debunk him on the spot. However, when I looked at them, I could tell they had nothing to say which could change his mind.
“Whoa,” said Santa.
“Dude,” said Jesus.
Both of them turned away, their very forlorn faces evident. Jesus walked off slowly, hands clasped in front of his mouth, and Santa walked with his red bag of toys dragging in the snow, his shoulders slumped over.
I looked back at the sleeping Punk Rocker, who now looked more peaceful and content as he slept. Why didn’t either of those two try and convince him Christmas was more than just a vacation time, and he should share his happiness with others? Why did what he say upset them so?
And then it hit me. This man knew the truth behind the glimmering lights and false ideals. He knew that behind the grandeur of the time that is Christmas, people are only running away from the truth. They hide behind the taste of food, the fun of parties, and even the safety of religion. After it was all said and done, they still had to return to their lives of work, eat, shit, sleep, repeat.
The thought made me feel all empty inside. Was that all Christmas was? A time that served no real purpose, save for a worldwide vacation time? I didn’t want to think it, but I could not get it out of my head. If both Santa’s and Jesus’ view of Christmas could be so easily debunked, what was Christmas all about?
Still staring at the snoring Punk Rocker, I began to feel it really didn’t matter. The Punk Rocker can use this time however he felt. People could believe in Santa, Jesus, or not in anything at all. However they spent their time during Christmas was up to them. Myself, I just wanted to go home to my family. It was where I felt safe.
Of course, like the Punk Rocker said, I would eventually have to come back to all this: Back to the real world of work and no comfort. Yet, just as the Punk Rocker also said, I was going to enjoy every second of my time at home. It was Christmas, right?
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