As the line in the song goes, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year”. December, Christmastime. Aside from the parties for hosting and marshmallows for roasting the major thing chimes my jingle bells is the abundance of empathy we have for others. It restores my faith in humans to see people actually considering others before themselves at this time. I’ve seen people on lines at delis buying coffee for other patrons. I’ve seen more seats being given up on the subway. I’ve even had one man put money in a parking meter for me before giving me the spot. It’s a wonderful time to be alive and part of the throng of a great metropolis like New York City. Good cheer abound.
Of course, not everyone is brimming with good will; the guy who has to stand all day in the cold hawking expensive Christmas trees is probably had his fill of cheer by around mid December. People who aren’t Christians may not have their cups runnething over with great tidings of joy, Jesus, St. Nick and greetings of “Merry Christmas”. Ask any Rockette, the unofficial Ambassadors of Good Cheer how cheerful they are when they have to do four-show days of The Christmas Spectacular a week after Christmas.
The depressive ones, like me who feel drained and lost during this time may not qualify for a cheer leader position on Santa’s team but I find my spirits buoyed by simple acts of kindness and patience that are absent from January through November. So as I stand on the Precipice of Tomorrow and gaze into the inviting maw of the New Year (and the new decade) I pose the seemingly simple question; why can’t human beings seem to keep this kindness moving beyond New Year’s Eve?
This sentimental kindness is as transient as the season itself. As the big day looms closer our good cheer amplifies to a critical mass measurable in mega tons. Then, as suddenly as it appears, the kindness we exhibit goes out with the tree, the lights and the unwanted fruitcake. The Norman Rockwell painting of our existence goes back to the 70’s cop movie we live in from day to day.
Why does it have to be Christmastime for me to be nice to you? Does this mean in August when the thick steamy tropical soup of summer grinds everything to a sweaty standstill that I should shove you off the coffee line at the cart and swipe your cup as you stumble away?
I’m trying to put my finger on that little atom of persistent kindness because I’d like to keep it all though the year. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could always be nice? You know, if Santa or Jesus or whomever you believe is keeping score really knows if you’ve been bad or good do you think you’re getting bonus points for behaving as you normally should only one month a year? I know, I know, we are creatures of last-minute good intentions like flossing 20 times, brushing up and down, side to side, and using mouth wash on the morning of our dental check up. Remember how that goes? The dentist knows if you’ve been bad or good to your teeth. You know what you get if you’ve been good? You get a lollipop. If you’ve been bad, you get the drill.
This year, along with my other 42 resolutions I’m going to try it. I’m going to try and, like the reformed Scrooge, keep Christmas all though the year. I think I can happily spend the winter days greeting passersby with a smile, offer please and thank you at every opportunity and, as circumstance merits, do as much selfless good for as many as I can. It sets my souls aglow just thinking about it. I’m a steamy bowl of chicken soup waiting to nourish the aching tummy of my city. Why not try it with me?
Addendum
The blizzard that buried New York City in the final days of December, 2010 didn’t come as a surprise, what did was the City’s Official response: “Plow? What plow? Just don’t drive and everything will be fine. For a few days the city was paralyzed by drifts of snow and an absence of The Sanitation Department. It was a Yuletide buzz kill. I thought for sure the tragic consequences of not getting emergency services to people in need would make certain there wasn’t a cup left of good cheer to feed a mouse despite New Year’s Eve breaking the horizon only a day or so away. However, as people are wont to do during a crisis some stand in the corner with their hands in their pockets, some contribute to the problem by selfishly parking cars on sidewalks or just leaving them in the street. Others however, rise to the occasion by fashioning gurneys out of sleds to carry injured and sick people to help, offer blankets to the cold and make sure those around them are okay. Emergency responders trudge through the snow fully loaded with gear to get to a suffering baby. That’s not leftover Christmas Cheer, that’s it’s older stronger cousin The Human Spirit.
Since my car was lost in a block of ice somewhere among the abandoned vehicles in the snow I had to take the express bus into work not three days after Christmas. I always like taking the bus into the city because the drivers are usually very friendly, quick with a hearty greeting and a smile. Tonight, after standing on a block of unplowed ice I hopped on board with a sunny wintery, “Hiyo!”. It was returned only with a stern expression of a driver who had been navigating treacherous roads longer than she wanted to. I took the seat in the front and she pulled the beast out real slow. She was cautious and silent, taking no chances, never driving recklessly and in no hurry. I appreciated that though I myself would have had that thing lit up like a bottle rocket on July 4.
Traffic was the thickest I had ever seen. It was like trying to move through caramel left out in the cold.
Just before getting to Canal Street is when it took place. Being in the front of the bus I saw the dance play out with predictable result. There was a tiny car that rudely wedged itself in front of us with barely room enough to react. Our driver, fearless and wary eased up as close as possible to the car just to let the driver know how close he was to needing new paint.
He stopped in the middle of the slow moving traffic and got out. The driver lets out a frustrated, “Not again” kind of sigh. Edited transcript follows:
Driver: B**ch, you need some manners!
Bus: MOVE THAT PIECE OF S**T!
Driver: You need some manners, b**ch!
Bus: MOVE THAT PIECE OF S**T!
Driver: Something unintelligible.
Bus: YOU NEED OT MOVE THAT PIECE OF S**T BEFORE IT BECOMES RUBBISH!
Driver: How’d you like me to come over there and slap the s**t outta you?
Bus: MOTHER F***ER YOU COME THE F**K OVER HERE AND SLAP ME, MOTHER F***ER!!!
Driver gets back in car and purposely drags his way up Church Street until he turns for the Holland Tunnel like a dog with the tail between the legs. There are several minutes of quiet on the bus as I‘m sure the other two passengers are wide eyed and stunned. Trace and I merely yawn, another New York City moment for the books.
After composing herself the driver looks over to us as if to make sure we weren’t in shock. I smiles and laughed a little. She ducked her head a bit so her dark features were partially in shadow. Then in a quiet sultry purr not unlike Eartha Kitt she says, “Well I guess he didn’t want to slap the s**t outta me, dumb ass Jersey mother f***er.”.
Good Cheer for good times. Welcome to the New Year.
2 comments:
It's the denouement that makes that one. Love it.
one of your best blogs....
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