Yet there was nothing exotic about our secret Christmas. We had a tree, we hung decorations on it, we exchanged cards, we sang Christmas carols and strung popcorn and drank hot punch.  My good Muslim of a father saw nothing to object to in all this.  On Christmas morning, my siblings and I woke up to the same Christmas miracle as my own kids do now: material goods brightly wrapped and heaped under a Christmas tree, presents delivered by none other than Santa Claus. 

Yes, Christmas supposedly commemorates the birthday of Christ, but there’s a whole other tradition of celebration at this time of year that even a Jewish/Muslim family can dive into.  Many pre- and non-Christian cultures—the pagan Germans, the Druids, and others—celebrated the winter solstice, that pivotal moment when darkness begins to ebb and light to swell. In fact, Christian officials in late Rome established  Christmas in part to pre-empt a pagan holiday known as Saturnalia, which honored Saturn, the God of Agriculture: Saturnalia began on December 17 and ran about about two weeks. During that festival Romans decorated trees with bits of bright metal and gave each other gifts. As Rome

In short, many streams have flowed into the river that is our modern Christmas–and what a rushing river it has become!   Every year the holiday stress seems to get more and more intense. For me, last year was the worst ever, but I got through it; I always do.  Christmas Eve arrives, and there I am, wrapping presents with my wife Debby.  The house is quiet. The kids are upstairs asleep, dreaming about presents. Debby and I are setting up the show. Mozart provides the soundtrack.  We’re feeling becalmed, like boats bobbing in a harbor after a storm. It’s a good feeling–cathartic even.

And then I realize I’ve been here before. I’m here every year, in fact, about this time. And  what is this catharsis about?  Is it just the relief of surviving a marathon, of feeling the stress let up?

Naw. There’s something more here.  For at least three weeks in this season, I feel like I have a second full-time job: buying presents for the people on my list. And of course, not just any old present will do—I feel driven to find the right gift for each particular person—which entails thinking quite deeply and intensely about that person. Who is she (or he)? What’s she interested in these days? What seems to give her joy?  When I look at it this way, I see that I was wrong to confuse the saturnalian spending spree of the commercial Christmas with Las Vegas. It’s really a concentrated meditation on what other people want. And boy, I’ll be the first to admit: that’s a worthy break from the other 49 weeks when I am (I’ll confess it) obsessing on what I want.

So now I’m thinking it doesn’t matter where the traditional  Christmas comes from—Saturnalia, the Christian Nativity, pre-Christian German rituals—whatever:   I’m giving up on the idea of a Las Vegas Christmas and sticking with the dog-eared old Christmas traditions of my childhood in Afghanistan.