It's a love/hate thing

Someone once told me shame was an internal emotion, one we force on ourselves. Guilt, that great motivator, is external, caused by others. Food for thought during the traditional end of the year holiday season.

I'm Jewish, but I have a tree. And a menorah. I hang stockings for my dogs, I place a wreath on my door. Am I guilty of being a bad Jew? I don't think so. I think I suffer the shame of failing to be Martha Stewart on a shoe string budget. I don't have the motor skills to create a Tiffany-style stained glass menorah and artisan bee wax candles or make nouveau latkes with four different types of organic potatoes.

Like many Americans, I am part of a blended family. My parents are Jewish, my brothers Jewish. And their wives are...their wives. One is Jewish (the one with tattoos!), the other two Catholic, one far more orthodox in her faith. Only one of my nieces is being raised a Jew, the rest are being raised Christian. I send birthday gifts and tend to avoid the "which holiday do you celebrate" thing. At least they all love shoes.

Traditionally, I've had a love/hate thing with the holidays. Hanukkah never was a big deal growing up. Potato pancakes, birthday candles substituted for the real thing, a few lame songs about dreidels. Nothing like the lights and pageantry that my Christian friends and neighbors had. We had eight mystical days of lights, they had a holiday that started the day after Thanksgiving and lasted until the college bowl games were over.

Then I got wise. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. The end of the year is about enjoying the gifts of friendship, the seasonal foods, yes even fruitcake, and shopping strategy.

I did my time in retail, first as a clerk in high school, then as a store manager after college. For me, Thanksgiving was a day filled with angst. Not worrying about how dry the turkey was going to be or if I had finally mastered the fine art of gravy, but the silent dread of Black Friday and knowing I had had my last 6 hours of sleep in a row until after inventory.

I ran away to the Car Carnival and spent my holidays on the road. Halloween in Birmingham, watching scary movies on TV and wearing fangs with my Oldsmobile suit, Thanksgiving in San Francisco, eating late dinner at the Palace Hotel Bar, under the Maxfield Parish "Pied Piper" mural. Christmas was spent at an airport, winging my way to our nation's capital for the last auto show of the year. New Year's Eve in Georgetown bars, Easter in New York, watching the Easter Parade on Fifth Avenue.

This year, as I tuned out the holiday displays in August at my local Target, the Christmas carols at Halloween at Kohls and Black Friday deals on the Internet, I am secretly glad I can chose to opt out of the holiday madness. No one is going to make me feel guilty about not buying into the myth.