Growing up, we never received Christmas cards from friends or family. It's a very American thing to do Christmas cards, kind of like thank you cards, which are entirely foreign to anyone with an immigrant parent (who has not adapted to the American culture), but just basic decorum in the American culture. So when we started doing Christmas cards after we got married, my parents and family were a little surprised. It was a good surprise, I'm sure, but surprised nevertheless. It became even more of a necessity to update everyone as I slowly became more distanced from my extended family after we left LA for Washington and then Utah. We go back about once or twice a year to visit now, but there's not always time to visit with the extended family, so like many things, it has become less and less and associated with my childhood more than my adulthood.
Every year, we send a little bit of an update on our family, what we've done, how our year's been, how and what the kids are sort of like. Obviously, these letters don't tell of the true day in and day out that we experience, but we hope they shed a bit of light on our year and will give us some sort of context on what we did and what our kids did years later. Because no letter could truly detail how mortifying it is when you go to music class with your sons and they lay on you like a big baby or how quickly it manifests into loving pride when they show some light has flickered and they get music theory. Or the tangible cuteness of my baby's little bum high in the air as he bear crawls everywhere. Or the level of joy that comes when my daughter tells me how much she loves the food I've cooked and gobbles it down patiently at the table like a big kid.
And I've thought about this a lot, about who I really should be sending our Christmas cards to, who even cares to read our letters, and what they mean to us and others. I made the smart decision to send 100 actual cards to friends and family who want them or send us cards, and then I also send a bunch via email to old coworkers, old college buddies, and even old college professors. The response from my emailed cards was above and beyond what I could have expected. I got responses with updates from old partners I worked with, professors who expressed such zeal for an update and requested I make sure to include them on my annual card list every year going forward. Old friends who are off the grid who told me they had new babies, I mean the response was overwhelming and absolutely amazing. Bundled in with that group, my parents also received a soft copy of our card. That might sound cruel or unthoughtful, but my parents mail is a pile of bills and notices lost, one that has grown too immense for them to adequately control, and I know better than to send them a card they will just read and then toss aside. For them, the soft copy is almost better because they can store it and refer back to it whenever they want with a simple search.
But still, my American side was apprehensive about what sort of response my mom would have. I finally got on the phone with her after I had sent the card and she was so happy. She told me how many times she had read it over and over, how much she loved reading the card, and how wonderful it was. Then, she told me that when they had first moved to the US and were still living in Missouri, someone they knew was very "Americanized," and would send them a card every single year giving them an update on their family. She referred to is as the most ridiculous thing she had ever read, so san-ba (a phrase that means foolish, and is a homonym with the number 3 and 8, so sometimes we say that's so 38! - don't be fooled by the Internet who refers to 38 as a female dog, that is definitely NOT the translation). But then, she admitted, now that she's receiving my cards and understands the cultural impact of Christmas cards, she can't stop gushing over mine and will read it over and over again, because she loves hearing about her daughter's family. I couldn't help but laugh, because maybe part of that struggle I had with whether or not I should do a card, how much to write, who to send it to, and how... was not so far from the fact that my own mom thought it a bit insane to send anything even resembling a family update. So now I know.
Friday, December 29, 2017
Tuesday, December 26, 2017
How Do you Feel About Santa?
When I was two years old, my dad dressed up as Santa. Everyone laughed when I made the two year old observation that Santa sured looked a lot like my Dad. I would remember it for years to come as the story would be retold time after time. That was the last time Santa would be a thing for me as the believer.
When Christmas came around and I was no longer an only child, I felt the need to be Santa for my brother who was six years younger. I always asked him about what he wanted and then made sure a gift under the tree was signed "from Santa" for him. The look of joy on his face was so wonderful and since I had never experienced it myself, I felt so proud. Sure, we didn't have stockings, and we didn't even put out cookies and milk for Santa at night but the knowledge that at least one of us got Santa, made it okay.
But a few years later, when he made the connection that jie jie (big sister in Mandarin) was the culprit behind his "from Santa" gifts, I came to the conclusion that Santa was the worst thing ever. The mortified look of being duped for so many years, the way he faked that it wasn't a big deal when I could feel like it absolutely was-it just absolutely broke my heart. I decided right then and there that this whole Santa thing was definitely a bad idea. I became grateful that I never believed in it, and that my parents never played along. At least there were some perks for being an immigrant child with parents who didn't buy into the American traditions.
After I graduated college, my cousin who was 16 years younger, would finally learn about Santa. I'd get a phone call from my Aunt asking me what Pokemon was, because her daughter was crying the day after Christmas. The only thing she had written to Santa asking for was Pokemon. My Uncle had seen this letter and dismissed it, thinking it was just some sort of school craft she brought home. They didn't know you actually wrote letters to Santa asking for something, or that parents were supposed to step in to keep the fantasy alive. My brother and I quickly got a Pokemon and attached it to a letter explaining how Santa had gotten lost. But that was about it for her, she would never believe in Santa again after that.
They say some bad experiences can mold a person, influence the way they think or act, and my Santa encounters certainly did that. I decided early on I'd never continue the Santa act for my own kids. When I became religious in my late 20's, there was even more reason not to continue the Santa act. For me personally, the fact that I now began to believe in something I once thought was just made up made all the difference. I didn't want to encourage my kids to believe in something I knew ultimately would be unreal.
And now, here I am with kids, and Santa has become a bit of a misnomer. Our kids don't believe he exists, at least not in the way he's portrayed as someone who magically comes with flying reindeer through chimneys to deliver gifts, rather they acknowledge his presence and the symbolism that comes along with him representing the consumer side of Christmas. Mostly, we talk about Jesus's birthday as the reason for the big day, but then when we get to questions about Santa and if he's real or not, we just ask them questions, and then they come to their own conclusions about how presents never come from "Santa," or how reindeers can't fly, and how Santa is different everywhere they go. A few times, my second yelled at strangers that "Santa is not real!" when asked what he wanted from the big guy. That prompted a discussion about not ruining it for others, and that he is real in the sense of the idea of Santa and that parents can substitute for Santa. When my kids got stocking stuffer items from their great Uncle Ike and great Aunt Jan, they celebrated with joy and thought it a little peculiar that their cousins got the same stuff from "Santa," but rather than inquire as to the difference, they just shrugged it off. And I guess that's sort of where we are now. We don't encourage or discourage, we don't lie, but we also don't tell the entire truth.
How do you feel about Santa?
When Christmas came around and I was no longer an only child, I felt the need to be Santa for my brother who was six years younger. I always asked him about what he wanted and then made sure a gift under the tree was signed "from Santa" for him. The look of joy on his face was so wonderful and since I had never experienced it myself, I felt so proud. Sure, we didn't have stockings, and we didn't even put out cookies and milk for Santa at night but the knowledge that at least one of us got Santa, made it okay.
But a few years later, when he made the connection that jie jie (big sister in Mandarin) was the culprit behind his "from Santa" gifts, I came to the conclusion that Santa was the worst thing ever. The mortified look of being duped for so many years, the way he faked that it wasn't a big deal when I could feel like it absolutely was-it just absolutely broke my heart. I decided right then and there that this whole Santa thing was definitely a bad idea. I became grateful that I never believed in it, and that my parents never played along. At least there were some perks for being an immigrant child with parents who didn't buy into the American traditions.
After I graduated college, my cousin who was 16 years younger, would finally learn about Santa. I'd get a phone call from my Aunt asking me what Pokemon was, because her daughter was crying the day after Christmas. The only thing she had written to Santa asking for was Pokemon. My Uncle had seen this letter and dismissed it, thinking it was just some sort of school craft she brought home. They didn't know you actually wrote letters to Santa asking for something, or that parents were supposed to step in to keep the fantasy alive. My brother and I quickly got a Pokemon and attached it to a letter explaining how Santa had gotten lost. But that was about it for her, she would never believe in Santa again after that.
They say some bad experiences can mold a person, influence the way they think or act, and my Santa encounters certainly did that. I decided early on I'd never continue the Santa act for my own kids. When I became religious in my late 20's, there was even more reason not to continue the Santa act. For me personally, the fact that I now began to believe in something I once thought was just made up made all the difference. I didn't want to encourage my kids to believe in something I knew ultimately would be unreal.
And now, here I am with kids, and Santa has become a bit of a misnomer. Our kids don't believe he exists, at least not in the way he's portrayed as someone who magically comes with flying reindeer through chimneys to deliver gifts, rather they acknowledge his presence and the symbolism that comes along with him representing the consumer side of Christmas. Mostly, we talk about Jesus's birthday as the reason for the big day, but then when we get to questions about Santa and if he's real or not, we just ask them questions, and then they come to their own conclusions about how presents never come from "Santa," or how reindeers can't fly, and how Santa is different everywhere they go. A few times, my second yelled at strangers that "Santa is not real!" when asked what he wanted from the big guy. That prompted a discussion about not ruining it for others, and that he is real in the sense of the idea of Santa and that parents can substitute for Santa. When my kids got stocking stuffer items from their great Uncle Ike and great Aunt Jan, they celebrated with joy and thought it a little peculiar that their cousins got the same stuff from "Santa," but rather than inquire as to the difference, they just shrugged it off. And I guess that's sort of where we are now. We don't encourage or discourage, we don't lie, but we also don't tell the entire truth.
How do you feel about Santa?
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