I was asked just a few weeks ago, “How can an Atheist celebrate Christmas and love it so much?” And to answer that I am going to first tell you a little story.
Before all my generation grew up, my grandmother’s place was always the concentration point where every family member would gather, that was just the simple most recognized unspoken rule in the family. Even on New Year’s Eve, before anybody could go to their respective families, the first hug the second the clock hands marked twelve O’clock was on my grandma’s territory.
The gatherings at my grandma’s place were like no other. Beer, funny, dirty jokes (that went over my head for obvious reasons, that now I basically repeat), and dancing were the kind of Christmas Eve we were accustomed to. Almost every single-family member would gather at my grandmother’s house to cheer and see people they have not seen in the longest time or talked to for that matter.
I am certain that my family is not the only one suffering from internal conflict. Many elephants walked around the house, some would hide very deep, others were very visible, but everybody would just avoid them, even if they were dancing in front of their nose. As a kid, you ignore the history of the family and they become experts at disguising the hypocrisy in these smiles showing a fake happiness for the time being and of course, for the delight of grandma.
Despite everything, there was genuine love dispersed around and my family was very good at painting the most amazing Christmas times for the kids.
By eleven at night, one of my uncles would be lost in alcohol. Most of the time he was incredibly fun when he was under the influence of alcohol, other times he got aggressive, getting infected with the superman complex. It might have been because he wasn’t where he wanted to be in life, or he was just young and stupid. But there he was always dancing like no other. For me, his dancing was the most amazing thing I could see in these family gatherings. I’d say I dance because of him.
The way his upper and lower body coordinated perfectly while he moved to the beat of the music is uncanny. It seemed like he was floating and letting his body do whatever in a very passionate way. He enjoyed it so much and you could see in his face radiating happiness.
The whole family was having fun, smiling, clapping to the beat of the song my uncle loved dancing to “El Chuntaro Style” by “El Gran Silencio.” I looked around and saw people hugging, sharing laughs and I had this wishful thought of everyone getting along like this all year long, but life is no fun without some drama.
My mom called my name.
I barely heard her. Her voice was overpowered by the loud music. She tried one more time with more enthusiasm.
That time I turned around and she, wiggling, following the beat with her body, points to my uncle, telling me to go in and dance with him. However, I was somewhat shy at the time and first I whispered, “no-no-no…way!” Shaking my head while looking at the floor and stuttering like no other kid.
Then she started dancing towards me smiling and when she got close to me, she said, “I know you like the way your uncle dances, go with him and just try to move like him, it is easy, follow him and feel the music.”
Unconvinced that it was that easy I went in there, the circle made by my family, and everybody started clapping, and my heartbeat started rising, blood rushed to my underdeveloped muscles and my body started feeling the music. I had seen my uncle dance many times, and I could do the move he did. I felt so excited, I was dancing, and I was doing well…so I thought. Like my brain had processed all his dancing steps over the years and I just felt the music.
After the song was over my grandma started saying that it was time for the kids to head to bed. The guy with the great white beard was coming tonight to leave some awesome presents for those who behaved well all year long. I thought nobody would get anything. We, as kids, did more bad than good, a lot of mischiefs. But we could not say “no” to grandma. Because behind that kind approach she had, when she got mad, she became a totally different lady. A scary lady. A tornado we didn’t want to mess with.
As always, my closest cousins stayed to sleep. All fitted in a single blanket on the floor. We did not care that we slept on the floor, we were just happy that we were together.
People started leaving my grandma’s house and it got quiet. One by one my cousins started to fall asleep. I usually went first. But I was too excited… I danced! I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Then promptly, I heard steps, someone moving stealthily. I did not move and stayed put. Mostly because I got very scared of the dark and what might be hiding in the shadows. I was covered with the light white blanket that grandma gave us; it felt like the most secure place to be. When I was a kid that blanket was like a force field, my fortitude of solitude, my hyperbolic time chamber, a place to hide so strong no menaces could penetrate it. I pulled down the blanket just enough to give a glance and I saw a human silhouette, placing some square objects close to our small tree. As it got close to the tree the dim lights gave away some details of this creature. I thought it was Santa, and I was going to see him for the first time, but what I found out was truly disappointing. I was lied to my entire life. Grandma was setting up all the gifts and I saw her.
It was a big lie, a big setup to control the behavior of children. If the family can lie so easily about this, why wouldn’t greedy institutions like religion lie about a God to control humanity? Modern slavery I called it.
Christmas’s day came, and it was five in the morning when everybody was up. All my cousins were giving thanks to a fictional being. Being fooled by their own parents. I was not deceived anymore; I knew the truth; insomnia literally and metaphorically opened my eyes and showed me the truth.
There they were, all happy kids opening gifts, surrounded by family, and I was far away by the old mirror with Victorian designs all around that was placed in the corner of the living room looking with sympathy at my cousins and sister. Should I have told them what I saw? Or should I just have saved it for myself? What was the right thing to do? I was just six years old. How could I possibly know what to do?
I received a soccer ball as a gift. It was just that and nothing could make me happier. I loved soccer; I had a passion for this sport that was insatiable. I forgot about the lie for a couple of hours and played as much as I could. I knew my soccer ball would not last at my grandma’s house.
She had a very nice garden right in front of the alley I used to play in. The rose’s thorns were evil though and have seen a lot of blood and destroyed soccer balls. I still played.
I played with one of my favorite cousins that visited us from another city occasionally. We were really close even though we were so far apart. We connected very well through art, soccer, and our favorite anime Dragon Ball Z. “Bamm-Bamm” we liked to call him; a nickname given by his father.
Bamm-Bamm was always better than me at soccer…he was better than me at many things, except at drawing and playing chess. (At least that is what I think.) He would win our pickup matches most of the time, but I did not care, we would have so much fun until the ball blew up. We didn’t keep the score, we just played. After a little while the inevitable happened, my soccer ball lost its life. The first time this happened I cried. That time I drove on.
We finished playing and joined our family inside the house for breakfast. Everyone from the night before was there.
Breakfast on the 25th of December was a must in my family. ‘El Recalentado” is a tradition that must be kept because warmed-up food from the day before just tasted so much better!
In the dining room, there was a big wooden table with a beautifully designed tablecloth that I helped create. I drew some fruits like grapes, apples, pears, and bananas that my mother sowed to the cloth and designed a nice border to it. That table was the “Grown-ups” table, and they would always eat first for some reason. I mean aren’t the kids supposed to eat first… just saying.
In the living room, we would unfold a rounded table with the Lion King as a design on the surface. This was the “kids table” We could barely fit five kids so many had to wait to eat. We were around twenty-seven cousins and those were just from one side of the family. I would always win a place as one of the first served and because I ate so fast my cousins really did not care. Although my mother got mad at me for eating as fast as I did. But for me sitting down to eat was a waste of time. So much to do in life other than sitting for twenty minutes and eating. If I could just inject the macro and micronutrients into my bloodstream, I would happily do it, although I love food.
Now, to answer, why does an Atheist love Christmas so much?
Christmas is a holiday that became my favorite not because I am a believer of God or Christ, but because I am a believer of family.
My grandmother instilled many values in me, but the one I am the most thankful for is the value of family. And even though, living my own life and constructing my own idea of what family really means, at its core, my grandmother’s idea leaves through my thoughts.
Today, the family is not the same. We have segregated ourselves. Society has played a trick on us and made us selfish. Everything is all about “ME ME ME.” It is now, “My happiness first.” And that is a terrible way to live. Humans thrive as givers, not takers. And this is one of the biggest reasons that our society is now more and more depressed. We have become way too selfish and self-centered.
My family, just like all others, isn’t perfect. I have plenty of bad memories. It helped growing up with a lot of cousins to kind of block some of the violence that we witnessed as kids. We just played and created our own little worlds. From playing marbles and house to watching cartoons.
I carry precious memories from when I was a kid. And for the sake of my grandmother, I try to avoid thinking about the bad ones to be able to enjoy my time with her.
Christmas for me became the nostalgia I carry from a treasured past of selected memories. And the desire to create a yearning future. And I intend to build my own little family around my own philosophy.
Merry Christmas to all and a prosperous New Year.
Disclaimer: Even though the story is based on true events keep in mind that it happened 25 years ago, and it was seen through the eyes of an innocent child. Some details maybe be altered or exaggerated for dramatic purposes.
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