Are you a natural-born post-poner? Don’t feel bad. Statistically, a third of us are and there’s good news to crow about! You’re not too late for the holidays. Chanukah is upon us, but it has eight days! Santa is racing toward your chimney, but those shiny black boots just kick off Christmas. It’s got 12 days.
I grew up in the chop suey culture that is suburban New York, a village where our neighbors were as likely to hail from Bangkok as Brooklyn, all drawn by schools. From my first days in kindergarten, I learned that my new friends celebrated a vast array of holidays from Chinese New Year to Ramadan. None perplexed me more than Chanukah. I was young, still in pigtails and crinolines, when my earliest Best Friend Forever came to school, waving her wrist in my face to show off her glittering Cinderella watch with a baby blue suede band. My toes curled in my Mary Janes as I tried hard not to cry-I had asked Santa for the very same thing.
“Santa came already?” I gulped. How did I miss it?
“No, silly. It’s for Chanukah, not Christmas. Last night was the first night. We light a candle and get a gift.”
“What do you mean ‘first night?’”
To this day, I’m not sure what she told me, but somehow it stuck in my brain that there was a plot afoot. For some people-not me-a non-Santa gave away presents for eight days, weeks before Christmas.
Forget “naughty and nice.” All you had to do was light a candle and “poof!” a gift appeared. I wanted into that.
I raced home to lodge a complaint with Santa’s emissary, my mother. Pragmatic, she offered me a choice, Chanukah now or Christmas later, reminding me how disappointed Santa would be if I wasn’t waiting up for him. Then my mother, who procrastinated forever, told me about Twelve Days of Christmas. In much of northern Europe, where our ancestors are from, people start celebrating Christmas on December 25th, with religious ceremonies for Jesus’ birth. They keep celebrating every day until January 6th, purported to be the day the wise men appeared. Mom suggested we try it.
Triumph! Throughout my childhood, we celebrated for 12 days, with the best present always saved for the twelfth night. Bought at the after-Christmas sale? No matter. The best party of the year was always the last day of Christmas.
When my husband and I were married, we resumed the tradition, but twisted Twelfth Night. We invited 12 couples bearing gifts. Or re-gifts, in fact. Our guests bring nice things they were given that just didn’t fit, or fit them. This turned out to be a very useful idea. One year, a sleeked-down minimalist couple brought an elaborate Waterford picture frame while our most traditionally shabby chintz friends brought very modern Nambe candle holders from Santa Fe. A perfect swap. But the party made them work for the trade. It’s adapted from the familiar Secret Santa rules, but we skewed them to maximize the anxiety. For the past 20 years, friends have begged to be on the list. Maybe your name will be there.
Happy holidays!