Africa-Press – Eswatini. WE are now approaching what is locally and affectionately known as “the Festive.” But it is a little difficult to leap naturally into the festive spirit against the background of the terrible human carnage and destruction currently taking place elsewhere in the world. But we owe each other some exuberance and entertainment; and walking round with long faces will not help the people of Gaza and Israel, or those of Ukraine. But we will not forget them, and we should help in whatever way we can.
In Eswatini, we have peace, for which we are grateful. That should remain as the foundation on which to build any future improvements in how our society should function. Very soon it will be Christmas, a time when Christians give vent to their celebrating of the birth of Jesus Christ, by doing one of the very things, for which Jesus has been loved, for two millennia – giving to others. That all-embracing giving has created the reciprocity of givers also becoming receivers. Not the kind that arrive at the office door, when your creditors decide it is time to have a desperate grab for money owed, but long gone. Let’s forget about them for now.
Time to have a bit of fun
Where Christmas is celebrated across the world, Father Christmas, also known as Santa Claus, is a central character in the festive season. In the almost certain likelihood, that no young child will ever read this article, I can talk openly about the fictional dimension of the marvellous character that has brought so much harmonious joy to a sizeable portion of the world’s population. I doubt any of us can remember the moment of transition from ‘believer’ to ‘non-believer’ but it may be fair to say that it matters not; the status of Santa Claus remains undiminished. We are all too fond of him and his status as Courier-Extraordinaire. The commercial couriers must gaze enviously at the pack of healthy reindeers galloping down Gwamile Street on Christmas Eve, with a huge white beard flapping in the breeze. Who said it was fiction?
Believe
My early Christmases were not happy ones. While I, quite naturally, did believe in Father Christmas, the problem was – so did my parents. I jest of course. Nevertheless, it was pointed out to me, much later in my life, that my mother’s face dropped a couple of feet – those confusing pre-metric days – when, one Christmas Day, after opening my presents I said to her, “Mummy, we were told that Father Christmas knows exactly where everyone lives. So why did he need Daddy’s name and address on the brown paper that some of my presents were wrapped in?” Mother immediately went shopping for the real Christmas paper, to be used every year after that. As delightful and charmingly innocent as any of the popular songs about Christmas has to be the one which Michael Jackson sang,
“I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus, underneath the mistletoe last night. She didn’t see me creep, down the stairs to have a peep. She thought that I was tucked up in my bedroom fast asleep. I saw Mummy tickle Santa Claus, underneath his beard so snowy white. What a laugh it would have been if Daddy had only seen Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night.”
Classic ironic and child-like humour. The reality is, of course, that we males have a lifetime of periodic transition: first we believe in Santa Claus; then we do not believe in Santa Claus; then, for our children, we pretend to believe in Santa Claus, and finally, we are invited to be Santa Claus. We did enjoy those early days of blissful ignorance, occasionally wondering how the guy managed to cover the entire world in a few hours. Poor little child-star Shirley Temple. Until she was six years old she did believe in the exotic mystique of Father Christmas. Then she went to the local superstore with her mother for the exciting treat of meeting the Man from the Arctic. But before she was allowed that special moment, the ‘imposter’ had come over to ask for her autograph. Her Christmases were never the same again.
Being a devoted pursuer of the short-cut I almost always write Christmas as ‘Xmas.’ Many frown at that abbreviation, but it has quite respectable origins. In the early days of the Christian church, Christians used the letter X as a secret symbol to indicate to others their membership in the church. If you know the Greek meaning of ‘x’ then you will understand why Xmas and Christmas mean the same.
Where was I now? Ah yes, Xmas. Whoops, there I go again. Christmas is of course the time for giving presents that you hope will bring joy to the receiver. Not to the one that I mentioned earlier, and that you hope you will never meet. No, the receiver who is the object of your love or admiration; or both. And it is always useful to catch a sale at this time of year. Everyone loves a bargain. But the other day I was extremely disappointed to see an advert in the paper that said, “Big sale at XYZ shop. Last week.” For goodness sake, I’d missed it, so why did they have to go and rub it in (lol)?
Source: times
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