{Christmas Eve, 1955}

Earl Cross: "I’ve got something for ya. Merry Christmas.”

Young Frank Cross: "A choo-choo train?”

Earl Cross: "No, it’s a pound of veal.”

Young Frank Cross: "But, daddy - I asked Santa for a choo-choo.”

Earl Cross: "Then go and get a job and BUY a choo-choo!”

That’s some old-timey gangster shit right there – the kind of parenting that tills the land & smells like gin. It’s from "Scrooged,” of course, when the Ghost of Christmas Past takes Frank back to a time when men were MEN and their kids’ stockings were filled with cuts of beef or tile grout or any number of pragmatic, useful things that the kids didn’t want, because SHUT YOUR FACE, I’M THE DAD! Perhaps I need a bit more Earl Cross in me.

That is because – and I have no explanation for this – I’ve allowed the entire goddamn month of December to become one long, continuous, elaborate Christmas extravaganza for my kids that never ever ends, which is painfully common among all the other parents I know who are also in their 30’s, serving as further proof that us Gen X'ers are pussifying our children at historic, unparalleled rates.

There has already been the Polar Express in Connorsville and Christmas at the Zoo and Jolly Days at the Children’s Museum, to name but a few of the Yuletide endeavors involving great time and expense. A Santa was at each of them, of course, but not the same one as who’ll be at the “Breakfast with Santa” we’re attending tomorrow morning, wherever that is. (Finland?) There is more shopping to do, naturally, and more Christmas movies to watch and tonight I will move the Elf On the Shelf to a different, more imaginative place again, just as I’ve done every night for the past month because my wife will kick me in my vagina if the kids even suspect that the elf isn’t real.

/hikes up trousers … grabs shoutin’ cane off the davenport

When WE were young, all we’d get in the way of Christmas-y hype was that bullshit “Frosty the Snowman” movie on ABC & some candy cane-flavored chewing tobacco and WE LOVED IT. So why, exactly, are we doing this?? Why are we bending over backwards for fortnights on end so that these little money-grubbing goons who can’t even vote or own firearms derive *THISMUCH* more excitement from Christmas?!? This is madness!! I SWEAR TO GOD NEXT YEAR I’M GIVING EACH OF MY KIDS A BONE-IN RIBEYE ON DECEMBER 24TH & CALLING IT A CHRISTMAS, EARL-CROSS-STYLE, SO THAT AMERICA WILL RISE AGAIN.

/does no such thing, sadly, because I am terrible

//buys more reindeer food to spread in the yard on Christmas Eve


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