CHRISTMAS? IT'S IN THE CARDS
December 14, 2006
Michael Smerconish
This
is an update of a previous Smerconish holiday column favorite.
I
LOVE Christmas cards, sending as much as receiving. And I know that a few days
after I drop mine in the mail, I'll get a boatload back. Funny how that works.
I
like seeing pictures of my friend's kids and charting their growth. I like
noting who says "Season's Greetings" and who's willing to wish me a
"Merry Christmas." I even like those goofy letters where people give
you a rundown on everything from the summer trip to the shore to the kids'
report cards. Sometimes I have no idea who sent them, but I still read them.
People
mistake my religion and send me Hanukkah cards. I like them, too. In fact, I
feel no need to correct anyone who offers me a "Happy Hanukkah," I
just respond in kind. I hope my Jewish friends share my attitude, because my
card this year does indeed say "Merry Christmas."
I
have a friend, Paul Lauricella, who every year sends a sophisticated homemade
holiday card with a liberal message. Last year, he listed the new candidates
for Santa, including Miers Claus ("if chosen would be the second least
qualified Santa in history, see Clarence Claus"), Scooter Claus
("whimsically monikered architect of Iraq war and future convicted
perjurer"), Cheney Claus ("will ensure his selection by warning
frightened gullible children that they will be 'hit hard' if one of the other
Santas is chosen").
This
year, he promises to address the war, Mark Foley, the election, Saddam's
conviction, same-sex-marriage, the PS3 shortage, Kerry's botched joke and
premature ejaculation ("although not in that order"). Sick. But I
can't wait to get it.
The
annual exchange of cards is also a reminder of type of year I've had. I'm
thinking the two Ds: death and divorce. Thankfully, this year was another
winner.
My
address hasn't changed, neither has my wife's. No one in my immediate family
died. I did lose Winston, my 16-year-old cocker spaniel, and will miss him on
his birthday, which happened to be Christmas. In my column last year on this
subject, I worried about his making it another year, but I was still unprepared
for the loss.
We
send out about 200 cards every year, and there are always a number of changes
for couples who split, and folks who die. These seem to be growing, which makes
addressing the envelopes a sobering experience. This year, like last, about a
dozen recipients needed a change.
Divorce
is tough. Do you send to the ex-wife, the ex-husband, both, neither? Maybe you
never liked her, but she has the kids and you want them to know you're thinking
of them. It's a Larry David episode waiting to happen.
Worse
are the deaths. I'm losing more friends each year as I grow older. And my
friends are losing parents. Sometimes I can't bring myself to take people off
my list, so I don't. My Rolodex reflects that, too. It has the names of many
people who are no longer living but whose names I just can't erase. Frank Rizzo
is still on my list. Herb Barness. Russell Byers. Thacher Longstreth. Jay Waldman.
And my legal mentor, James Beasley. I bet you have a similar list, at least in
your head.
This
year, I paused and gave thanks as I sent a card to my 100-year-old grandmother,
who's been ailing. For years, she's been saying she's "had enough."
THERE
ARE things we do annually that trigger a gut check. That make us stop and take
stock of where we are. Maybe it's a visit the same beach every summer. Or the
start of the school year. Sitting down for Thanksgiving.
Sending
and receiving the Christmas cards is one of them for me. And here's the lesson:
The status quo is often just fine.
Yeah,
the job may be awful. The in-laws may be a pain in the butt. The car may have a
dent. Bin Laden is still unaccounted for, and the Iraq war seems endless.
You're not going anywhere for the holidays. You're no longer a 36 waist, and
your wife will never again see a size 6, 8 or 10.
But
if your family is alive and together, you've had a pretty good year. In the
words of a great Philadelphian, Pat Croce:
Celebrate
the moment!