Christmas karma...

With Christmas closing in on all of us, let me tell you a little Christmas story. It has warmth, heartbreak, and an ultimately happy ending that inspires us all to keep Christmas in our hearts year-round. Okay, now that the schmaltzy crap is out of the way...

Recently at work, we played a Secret Santa game. This is where everyone picks a name out of a hat and must select a present for that person without anyone's knowledge. The main present is often preceded by small presents in the days running up t the office Christmas party, little things such as a little candy or Christmasy item. This way you tease each other with gifts while wondering the identity of your mysterious benefactor, just like Pip in Great Expectations. It's a Dickensian Christmas. God bless us, everyone!

I had some trepidations about playing this little office game because I've had some bad luck in the past with Christmas gift-giving games. To understand my reservations, I must first make a confession. I was once a boy scout.

"What?!?!?" you must be thinking. "A little gay kid was in the boy scouts?!?!" I know, it's shocking, but times were different back then. Actually I was a cub scout. I never made it to the real boy division; I think I was a Tiger or Wolf Cub. Technically, I am still some sort of small woodland animal in the eyes of the BSA organization.

This happened when I was about seven years-old (give or take a few cute red inches of me). And though I unfortunately left the pack before I ever got my hands on that coveted Boy's Life magazine or the other boys at a Scout Camp Jamboree, I did enjoy a few years of pre-pubescent scouting. From the little I can remember, we met in the dark drafty basement/cafeteria of the Catholic school my brothers and I attended when we lived on the mean streets of Jersey City. They never turned all the lights on so there were always pitch black areas of the room I would stare out into awaiting creepy figures to materialize from the shadows. I was convinced Freddy Krueger was living here but have yet to prove. Our packs were run mostly by our Den Mothers, my own Mom being one of them. I don't really remember any Den Dads around, which strikes me as odd for the Boy Scouts.

It was Christmas time and we were having some sort of Cub Scouting party in honor of the birth of Santa Claus, or some such thing. The basement walls were decorated with many cardboard holiday pictures, such as snowmen and Christmas trees and menorahs (maybe I'm just projecting that one), but it did little to cover up the fact that a murderous janitor called this eerie place home after we all left. All of the kids were to bring a small wrapped gift with them to this scouting party for a grab-bag game. My mother had wrapped up some sort of Lego set for me to bring. I remember thinking that this would be such a great gift, because I had the same Legos at home and I loved it! I would be the hero of the cub scouts for bringing the best gift ever! I would be revered higher than the mighty Akela for this! It was to be great.

So we played the grab-bag game. According to the rules dictated by the Den Mothers, the kids would place all of the presents in the bag and the children would blindly feel around and choose a gift one at a time. When the huge black garbage bag (festive!) was full, we all lined up and began choosing. After a few kids went, it was my turn. I felt around looking for a present that felt half as interesting as mine. When I decided on a long heavy box, I pulled it out to reveal that it was the same present I had brought. I tried to put it back and try again, but the Den Mother in charge of the bag wouldn't let me. I tried to explain that I knew what this gift was. She accused me of cheating! Have you ever tried to explain to a Den Mother that there had been a mistake? That the rules were vague and in the spirit of the game, you should be allowed a little leeway? No, she wouldn't hear of it. Drunk on power, she told me to stop ruining the game for everyone and get out of line.

Shamed, I spent a good portion of the remainder of the party in one of those dark Krueger-infested corners feeling sad and embarrassed. My Mom, being a Den Mother for some other group of little cubs, was busy spreading some holiday cheer. I'm pretty sure she looked up, saw me sobbing in the dark by myself, and shrugged. It's a painful memory on all fronts.

So you can see why I might be averse to playing gift-giving games. Against my better judgment I decided to play the Secret Santa game, not expecting to receive any little do-dad or treat prior to the unmasking. Little did I know my Santa loved Christmas games.

One day I got a CD. The next day I got candy. The day after that there was a ridiculous Christmas ornament featuring a Cello-playing Santa, presumably from a dollar store. Then there was a lovely tin full of delicious teas, a little book, and some Christmas potpourri. Finally I received a Santa hat that said "Matthew Claus" on it. My final "real" gift was a multi-media art set with paints and such. It was great! I felt like Jimmy Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life.

Merry Christmas, Bedford Falls! Merry Christmas, Savings & Loan!