I committed a holiday faux pas Thanksgiving weekend.
When the missus told me to bring down the Christmas tree, I grunted my dissatisfaction.
I wish I liked this time of year more.
My childhood Christmases were adequately merry.
When I was too young to tie my shoes, Santa brought me a kick-ass robot modeled after the one in the Lost in Space television show. Year after year, my mother made wonderful divinity and fudge, and we all cracked walnuts by the fire.
It felt fun then.
Nowadays, with the kids grown, Christmas seems a chore, a bunch of running around to buy stuff nobody needs.
And I don’t even do the shopping.
Grandchildren definitely will lift the mood. Until then, color me indifferent.