I don’t want any Stuff for Christmas.
Three reasons:
(1) I have enough stuff already.
(2) Beneath my gruff exterior of cynicism, sarcasm and
asshattery are more layers of
cynicism, sarcasm and asshattery. But beneath those layers beats the heart of a sentimental softie.
(3) I owe a favor to someone who returned a beloved pet when
I was a kid. (Details below)
So, please don’t send me any Stuff for Christmas. Or
Chanukah or Kwanza or Festivus, or just because you like the cut of my jib.
I am not anti-Capitalist. I’m not saying, “don’t spend money.” I respect people who
make and sell Stuff. But I want my loved ones to use my Stuff money for a
better purpose.
I’m not being a martyr here—I have accumulated more Stuff
than I’ll ever need. I have an overflow of Stuff. Some of my Stuff is
sentimental treasure. But I haven’t seen the sentimental treasure since the
cows came home because it’s buried underneath the other Stuff. (Please don’t give me any cows, either.)
My Stuff isn’t spread all over the house and I’m not a
hoarder like the ones you see on TV. To borrow from the late George Carlin’s
brilliant comedy routine, I have ”a place for my Stuff.”
Most people put Stuff in the basement/cellar where it grows
mildew and must be tossed. I live
in Southern California. Southern Californians don’t do mildew. It was traded
long ago for several Kardashians and a future draft pick.
Southern California also doesn’t have basements. So Southern Californians put their Stuff
in the garage and park their cars in the driveway.
Without mildew to cull the herd, Southern Californian Stuff
never gets tossed. When Stuff overflows, you are forced to get a house with a
bigger garage.
Grandkids Exempt
My wife and I will continue to buy Stuff for loved ones, of
course—the Grandkids particularly. Just none for me, thanks.
This brings us to Reason (3), the favor I owe to the guy who
got my dog back to me. He’s been dead for a long time but he’s still a saint.
Make that a Saint—name’s Jude.
When I was a kid I was told St. Jude’s specialty was “Lost
Causes.” When I was twelve, the
dog I loved was lost for days. I prayed for his help and just like that, St.
Jude did his magic thing and my dog came home.
Now “St. Jude” is better known as the name of a great
hospital. Whether you or I believe in St Jude the Saint is irrelevant here,
because we’re talking about “St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital .” There
they treat, ease the pain of, and nurture children suffering from the ravages
of Cancer and other life-threatening diseases. Families are never billed for
anything. To do that, St. Jude’s needs money. Lots and lots of money. They need money a lot more than I need
Stuff.
Anyone can contribute, of course, with or without giving up
your Stuff. May I suggest you go
to: www.st.jude.org to find out how, or just send a check
to “St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, PO Box 50 Memphis, TN 38101-9929”
