December 2009 Issue

I grew up in a family that went pretty much insane over Christmas gifts-and birthdays weren't much different.

I still remember how weird it was on my dad's 40th birthday when he came home with a swanky piece of jewelry for my mom and a new drum set for me. He bought them for us on his birthday.

We weren't the most demonstrative group when it came to showing how we felt about each other, except for gift-giving. As a kid, I got in on the act too. I remember taking on jobs and selling everything, from lemonade in the summer to mistletoe at year's end, so that I could buy gifts for everyone in my extended family.

As I've gotten older, though, those material trappings have become more or less just that: a trap. I feel pressured, almost obligated, to spend more time and money than I care to, to sufficiently express my Christmas spirit. With my wife, Amy, and I already consumed with the expectations surrounding the Christmas season at church, the list of gifts and all the baggage that comes with the season are enough to drain the holiday of much real joy for us.

This year, I'm reading a book called "Hundred Dollar Holiday: The Case for a More Joyful Christmas" by Bill McKibben, based on a recommendation from a trusted friend. The idea is pretty simple: Try not to spend more than $100 total on holiday gifts.

The point is not just to eschew materialism, temper our insatiable thirst for stuff or to make a statement against the corporate machine. It's more about slowing down, making room and creating time to allow joy to return to you and your family, what many of us consider a particularly sacred practice.

Sounds good, right?

But then, the voices in the back of my head start murmuring. We always do a gift rotation with Amy's family, and the spending limit for that alone would wipe out the hundred-dollar budget. Our son, Mattias, has been plotting for weeks the litany of toys he'd like to acquire. Then there's the baby, each other, friends, folks at church ... oh, and don't forget tipping the mailman, child-care worker, gifts for teachers, and on it goes.

I know that no one holds a gun to our heads to make us fulfill all these expectations. But who wants to be Scrooge, the one who comes off as the stingy schmuck who won't share the wealth?

Ultimately, we owe no one else an explanation, but the downside of this is we have little or no control over what they think of us and our streamlined holiday plan.

I have a feeling already that, as the list of "obligations" becomes more apparent, there may be some compromising of the spending limit. But just being aware in mid-November, as I write this about all the emotions and expectations heaped on this holiday, is a sobering reminder about how much that takes place in the spirit of the season really renders quite the opposite effect from the joy, hope and love it is supposed to represent.

So, if you see me strung up in my front yard on Christmas day with a Grinch mask pulled over my head, you'll understand how this little experiment of mine worked out.

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