I am a shameless Christmas connoisseur. In truth, it is one of a rare few things I never seem to procrastinate. Come November– no, October– I am like Mrs. Claus herself.
Amid the 80℉ afternoons, mounds of rotten leaves and 5 p.m. sunsets, it seems futile to even entertain calendar seasons. We returned from break armed with cabin socks and cable-knits, closets fattened like bears before hibernation. And here we are, mid-November, in shorts. It’s anarchic. Trash the calendars. Just another reason to celebrate Christmas now.
Okay. Controversial, I know. There are some insane “Thanks-natics” whose devotion bewilders me each autumn. Still, when November arrives, I’m all Bublé and silver bells.
“But the food!” one avows. This could be a reverberation of white suburbia, but I find the food lackluster. I understand certain novelties: the casseroles and stuffing and canned cranberries. (Of course, we use canned sauce: reference “white suburbia.”) Still, a bulk of worthwhile sides are rather attainable. Itch for mac and cheese? Green beans? Head to Conn. Or, even better, break into those microwavable macs under the bed.
“But the ambience!” I’m unsure if this refers to a rambunctious hometown bar scene, “trotters’ high” or heated political debates over mashed potatoes (all of which are available here). Head to Pace, traverse YikYak, still it’s all the same to me. From Lancaster Ave. to the dinner table. Save, of course, the existential dread of finals so often paired with pie.
Look, I understand. Velveeta never held a candle to Grandma’s famous, the weekend’s sales are historic and hometown drama is all the more exalted on a break. I have no ill will towards Thanks-natics. I just wish the same discretion were extended to me.
Are middle children the torchbearers, tendered to those overlooked between their Christmas and Halloween constituents? Is their hatred a mere mechanism of hierarchical structures? All structure aside (like I said, we’re close to an 80℉ winter), I want to listen to Justin Bieber’s “Mistletoe” in peace. If I cannot have the fall breeze or cable-knit sweaters, let me have this.
A tale as old as time, an absolute divorce between Christmas enthusiasts and Thanks-natics. However, amid such a tumultuous season, Villanovans realize the value of wholeness.
“Well, I for one, will never celebrate Christmas until December,” freshman Jennifer Alvarez said. “I was so irritated when [my roommate] started to decorate, but it made her so excited. I couldn’t tell her no.”
As we condemn our fellow students, whether for their love of presents or the parade, there is one crucial detail we should remember: we are all amid uncharted territories. Our calendar’s good as shredded, our timeline is distorted. All we have are little comforts. All we have is one another.
One of the prime manifestations of this universal “search for solace” is the sheer multitude of celebrations held on campus. From the war of intricate ornaments (a competition which is, of course, located in Drosdick) to the annual tree illumination at the Oreo to hot turkey lunches and the Hunger and Homelessness Awareness Week’s hunger 5K (for all the trotter families), the choices are unlimited. No matter who we are, or where home is, if we’re Thanks-natics or have our Christmas lists drafted before Halloween, each Villanovan can find their place and their little comforts here.
80℉ or 40℉, snowmen or sand beaches, parades or presents. The choice is ours. Just don’t lose each other in a world of binaries.
