Posted on 12/22/2006 9:23:56 PM PST by Lorianne
I love reading Christmas newsletters in which the writer bursts the bonds of modesty and comes forth with one gilt-edged paragraph after another: ``Tara was top scorer on the Lady Cougars soccer team and won the lead role in the college production of `Antigone,' which by the way they are performing in the original Greek. Her essay on chaos theory as an investment strategy will be in the next issue of Fortune magazine, the same week she'll appear as a model in Vogue. How she does what she does and still makes Phi Beta Kappa is a wonderment to us all. And, yes, she is still volunteering at the homeless shelter.''
I get a couple dozen Christmas letters a year, and I sit and read them in my old bathrobe as I chow down on Hostess Twinkies. Everyone in the letters is busy as beavers, piling up honors hand over fist, volunteering up a storm, traveling to Beijing, Abu Dhabi and Antarctica; nobody is in treatment or depressed or flunking out of school, though occasionally there is a child who gets shorter shrift.
``Chad is adjusting well to his new school and making friends. He especially enjoys the handicrafts.'' How sad for Chad. There he is in reform school learning to get along with other little felons and making belts and birdhouses, but he can't possibly measure up to the goddess Tara. Or Lindsay or Meghan or Madison, each of whom is also stupendous.
This is rough on us whose children are not paragons. Most children aren't. A great many teenage children go through periods when they loathe you and go around slamming doors and playing psychotic music and saying things like ``I wish I had never been born,'' which is a red-hot needle stuck under your fingernail. One must be very selective, writing about them for the annual newsletter. ``Sean is becoming very much his own person and is unafraid to express himself. He is a lively presence in our family and his love of music is a thing to behold.''
I come from Minnesota, where it's considered shameful to be shameless, where modesty is always in fashion, where self-promotion is looked at askance. Give us a gold trophy and we will have it bronzed so you won't think that we think we're special. There are no Donald Trumps in Minnesota: We strangled them all in their cribs. A football player who likes to do his special dance after scoring a touchdown is something of a freak.
The basis of modesty is winter. When it's 10 below zero and the wind is whipping across the tundra, there is no such thing as stylish and smart, and everybody's nose runs. And the irony is, if you're smart and stylish, nobody will tell you about your nose. You look in the rearview mirror and you see a gob of green snot hanging from your left nostril and you wonder, ``How long have I been walking around like that? Is that why all those people were smiling at me?''
Yes, it is.
So we don't toot our own horns. We can be rather ostentatious in our modesty and can deprecate faster than you can compliment us. We are averse to flattery. We just try to focus on keeping our noses clean.
So here is my Christmas letter:
Dear friends. We are getting older but are in fairly good shape and moving forward insofar as we can tell. We still drink strong coffee and read the paper and drive the same old cars. We plan to go to Norway next summer. We think that this war is an unmitigated disaster that will wind up costing a trillion dollars and we worry for our country.
Our child enjoys her new school and is making friends. She was a horsie in the church Christmas pageant and hunkered down beside the manger and seemed to be singing when she was supposed to. We go on working and hope to be adequate to the challenges of the coming year but are by no means confident.
It's winter. God is around here somewhere but does not appear to be guiding our government at the moment. Nonetheless we persist. We see kindness all around us and bravery and we are cheered by the good humor of young people. The crabapple tree over the driveway is bare, but we have a memory of pink blossoms and expect them to return. God bless you all.
Garrison Keillor's ``A Prairie Home Companion'' can be heard Saturday nights on public radio stations across the country.
I could make a hilariously witty and insightful comment, but it's a Garrison Keillor article, so I'll pass.
Well, in Lake Wobegone all the children USED to be above average, until the teachers' union took hold.
Garrison, a blooming liberal might not have as many accomplishments to put in his Christmas newsletter as I notice that liberals usually do not raise accomplished children. I applaud the Christmas newsletters that list the children's accomplishments for the year. We all need to encourage and get behind kids like that. America was built on disciplined, motivated and mannerly people which is the antithesis of liberalism.
Ya know, I saw the author's name, and though maybe I wouldn't bother reading the article. I was actually enjoying it, until that sentence. He just couldn't resist saying that, even though it has NOTHING to do with the point of the piece, could he!
"We plan to go to Norway next summer. We think that this war is an unmitigated disaster that will wind up costing a trillion dollars and we worry for our country."
Screw him. I'll buy the ticket to Norway if he promises to stay.
Keillor is so pathetic and negative that I wonder why he hasn't taken his own life by now. His life as a humorist has been squandered. He took a talent for laughter and poisoned it. He spreads his miserable attitude like some disease, apparently in the hope that he will make everyone in his audience as sick of life as he is. Do yourself a favor and avoid Mr. Keillor. You will be a happier person for it.
And, it seems to me, many of the children with the most impressive achievements are home-schooled.
I've noticed that too. Their parents really take an active role in their lives & it shows.
I've also noticed that a high percentage of my liberal acquaintances either have children that haved turned out to be gay - or that are not on speaking terms with their parents.
There, fixed your letter for ya, booger nose.
You are obviously referring to my 8 year old black belt who blew right past 2nd grade.
How depressing his home must be on Christmas day.
You know, the whole article was fairly harmless until he just had to stick his dig at Bush in.
Hey Keillor, you stupid lefty, kiss my ass. And Merry Christmas too.
" I applaud the Christmas newsletters that list the children's accomplishments for the year. "
But no one ever reads them, trust me...
Hahahaha, I was just going to ping you to this.
Still waiting on your letter: "Junior in jail; Missy pregnant, again; etc...."
Junior's in the remedial writing class at Jackson State Pen. (his behavior has improved so the warden is letting him use a pencil again) so he's sending out his own letter this year. I don't think we'll hear anything from Missy this Christmas. Poor thing has morning sickness so bad she's been forced to sleep on the couch on the front porch. That works out well for her boyfriend, though, as he can keep an eye on her from the front lawn while he's working on the car.
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