Jou Ma se Pa rup a pum pum

By Murray Stewart murray.stewart49@gmail.com

The instruction from my editor was terse and to the point. “It’s Christmas!” she hissed through her face mask while holding a pellet gun to my temple and rummaging around with her free hand for pellets. “So for Pete’s sake write something Christmassy! Comprendo?” I nodded, too terrified to ask who Pete was, and leapt out the window before she found a pellet.

Back home, after swilling down a relaxing broccoli and spinach smoothie, I sharpened my pencil and pondered my options. Writing Christmassy articles, whether for Pete or not, is a minefield. You’re bound to offend at least one group of people, whatever you write.

So, despite their bile-inducing tendencies, I can’t mention the slew of “Gee! I love Christmas” movies oozing out of our TVs, nor the disturbing noises they make. It’s a succession of strategically jingled sleigh bells, strung together with saccharin-sweet storylines and bowel-churning ditties sung by dewy-eyed B-grade actors in the snow. And I dare not mention the ostentatious strings of festive lights that don’t help Eskom’s battle against load-shedding one bit – so I won’t.

And I’d definitely be hounded by at least one global organisation who claims it’s all part of a child’s spiritual upbringing. Well, perhaps – but there’s a danger that some kids might happily grow up thinking, correctly, that Christmas is dedicated to only one man – but incorrectly assuming he’s from the North Pole and wears funny clothes. He does, after all, bring them presents if they’re ‘good’ – whatever that means.

Another topic I dare not mention is the awkward question about the real date of Christmas. Let’s face it, Jesus’ birthday, and the arrival of Santa Claus falling on the same day doesn’t make good marketing sense. One would think that moving Santa to June or July was the obvious solution, but oddly enough the opposite happened.

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