December 19, 2023
WHERE ARE YOU, CHRISTMAS?
WHY DID YOU MOVE AWAY?
Faith Hill
How the Grinch Stole Christmas was a sorta watershed kiddies’ picture book for me when I was seven.
For I had graduated to the childishly ‘more adult’ stage of my reading career, since the previous summer I had seen firsthand the vastness of Canada, on a cross-country train trip with many a whistle stop.
Each train station, of course, had a smoke shop (natch - it was 1957, and EVERYONE smoked EVERYWHERE!) with rows and rows of family magazines and COMIC BOOKS.
My bro, David, and I POUNCED on those comics, now that Mom as well as Dad was bringing home the bacon. After all, comics cost only cost ten cents back then.
Money was no object now.
Anything for us rascally boys - anything to get us out of the adults’ hair for a few sec’s while they sat up in the CPR Train Observation Deck and made small talk over the unwinding, spectacular scenery.
Sis, well-behaved as always, sat primly and quietly by their side... ever the smartest sibling.
Well, when we arrived in Vancouver three full days later, our suitcases were BULGING with all the comics we had acquired.
We boys had seen the world (in moments when we actually peered outside)!
Two real Kosmopolitan Kids... we had become a Waste of Space.
Fall came inevitably, with school and both parents now working full-time, but for us - hanging around with our li’l buddies - we each had a whole Hockey Sock fulla comics to trade for MORE new ones.
Can you tell? We kids were becoming spoiled - rotten.
So when November came around and Mom read to us from the brand new How the Grinch Stole Christmas - with its great message about the Real Meaning of Yuletide (and no, it’s NOT about amassing gifts: sorry, Mr. Grinch) - we were just plain Bored.
And ready to get back to our street hockey pals and More comic book trading, the next day.
Know what?
When you’re suddenly spoiled rotten, the meaning totally disappears outta Christmas -
As it did for us -
And yes, even for our lives!
And it took ME all of 60 long years, and much sweat ‘n tears:
To rediscover the season’s simple magic.
WHY DID YOU MOVE AWAY?
Faith Hill
How the Grinch Stole Christmas was a sorta watershed kiddies’ picture book for me when I was seven.
For I had graduated to the childishly ‘more adult’ stage of my reading career, since the previous summer I had seen firsthand the vastness of Canada, on a cross-country train trip with many a whistle stop.
Each train station, of course, had a smoke shop (natch - it was 1957, and EVERYONE smoked EVERYWHERE!) with rows and rows of family magazines and COMIC BOOKS.
My bro, David, and I POUNCED on those comics, now that Mom as well as Dad was bringing home the bacon. After all, comics cost only cost ten cents back then.
Money was no object now.
Anything for us rascally boys - anything to get us out of the adults’ hair for a few sec’s while they sat up in the CPR Train Observation Deck and made small talk over the unwinding, spectacular scenery.
Sis, well-behaved as always, sat primly and quietly by their side... ever the smartest sibling.
Well, when we arrived in Vancouver three full days later, our suitcases were BULGING with all the comics we had acquired.
We boys had seen the world (in moments when we actually peered outside)!
Two real Kosmopolitan Kids... we had become a Waste of Space.
Fall came inevitably, with school and both parents now working full-time, but for us - hanging around with our li’l buddies - we each had a whole Hockey Sock fulla comics to trade for MORE new ones.
Can you tell? We kids were becoming spoiled - rotten.
So when November came around and Mom read to us from the brand new How the Grinch Stole Christmas - with its great message about the Real Meaning of Yuletide (and no, it’s NOT about amassing gifts: sorry, Mr. Grinch) - we were just plain Bored.
And ready to get back to our street hockey pals and More comic book trading, the next day.
Know what?
When you’re suddenly spoiled rotten, the meaning totally disappears outta Christmas -
As it did for us -
And yes, even for our lives!
And it took ME all of 60 long years, and much sweat ‘n tears:
To rediscover the season’s simple magic.