Obligatory "I Hate Christmas Songs" Essay

I have long promised myself that I would never stoop to denigrating the Christmas season. So I won’t. But I’m not above poking mild fun at a couple of the songs. I’m sorry, but if I can’t ridicule Mariah Carey, then what spice does life contain anymore? So then, with a wink firmly affixed to one eye, I shall eviscerate some holiday classics. And then, in the name of balance, I will elevate a couple.

Time to gripe. Here are two of the worst offenders:

It’s The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year: why did I start with this one? ITMWTOTY… lordy. And I refuse to be corrected on the name - that’s the name to me because it’s sung again and again until your brains leak out of your ears. Wait, that’s actually what it’s named? Honestly? I just… can’t. Andy Williams, did you name your car “The Most Wheeled Vehicle In The Garage”? Or your kid “The Most Genetically Adjacent Human To Andy Williams”? Get a life, dude, or at least a thesaurus.

This song is the aural equivalent of having a slightly drunk older male relative lecture you about how the 50’s were a better time. Loudly. While everyone else in the vicinity stares at you over the turkey gravy, and it’s already been a long Thanksgiving day and you’re all pretty spent. But he just keeps going over and over and over again about how it’s the most wonderful time. He won’t stop. Your head starts aching. He keeps going on. There are flecks of turkey and stuffing in his unkempt beard. Your head hurts worse now. He has something green in the gap near his left incisor. You can smell his breath, and he’s leaned closer now. He’s talking about kids “jingle belling”. You’d ask him what the hell he’s talking about, but it would just prolong the experience. So you sit there. And he keeps talking. It never ends. You live here now, in the hap-happiest lecture about Christmas ever made. This is your world.

At least that’s how it makes me feel.

Wonderful Christmastime: do I really need to include this one? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who actually likes it. This backup-warning-beeper of a song is guaranteed to make you search for the nearest bar. Only a small child could… wait, let me ask Evie (my daughter, eternally optimistic and blond and sweet and a bit loony at times, like all eight-year-olds).

Yep, she likes it. She says “the Christmas music is fun” and “it’s just cheerful. You can dance to it.” Ah, to be young again and not be completely turned off by the repetition, lack of imagination, and irritating production values that this song represents. “You can dance to it” is not the high praise you think it is, as Evie can dance to the rattling of a ‘85 Mercedes diesel if it’s loud enough. Sorry, Paul. Go back to silly little love songs.

Enough of being a grump. Here are a couple I wholeheartedly love, or at least the ones that don’t cause me to defenestrate my stereo:

Last Christmas: yes, you can play your Whamageddon game (in which you try to go as long as you can without hearing the original - it’s harder than you think), and I play it too. But I actually love this song, because it’s everything that Christmas really is. “All I Want For Christmas Is You” is all about how the singer appreciates the other person, misses them, needs them. They don’t even want any presents! No stockings! All they want for Christmas is you!

Ridiculous. Christmas is about me. Only me. I get presents. I have the opportunity to look at pretty lights. I want a bigger tree. Where’s Santa? Operating under this premise leads one to believe that relationships should follow the same pattern. It’s about meeeeeee. Last Christmas, I gave you my heart. And you, being the completely obtuse non-main-character you are, threw it away the very next day.

I don’t even know what that means. Did the significant other in question find someone else with whom they could snuggle on Boxing Day, leaving poor George behind? Even though the absolutely fabulous music video makes very clear that they’re stuck way up in the woods in a very ‘80s cabin, with very few romantic partner alternatives? Or, more alluringly, did they actually receive George’s real heart (as his was replaced by a pig’s heart thanks to a lifelong overindulgence of gingerbread) and then, perhaps realizing that accepting a person’s flesh on a holiday was not ideal, threw the rapidly decomposing organ in the trash bin?

Regardless of the actual physical staging of the event involved, I think this song has it all. Betrayal. Anger. Sadness. Poppy ‘80s drums. George Michael and that other guy. Basically, best Christmas ever.

I’ll Be Home For Christmas: ah, the “Born In The USA” of Christmas - a song that smart people understand for what it means and love it for it, and the… less intellectually blessed happily sing along to while remaining blissfully unaware of its dark rotten core.

Christmas needs more tears. This song provides. Heck, it’s the darkest, coldest time of year (and wettest if you’re the Northwest USA), and everyone is depressed. For teachers, it’s the absolute worst time of the year - a good 30-40% of your students actually hate Christmas because their home situations are not straight out of an L.L. Bean catalogue. And what do you think a bunch of teenagers do about their fears and deep internal sadness? Hug each other and stare wistfully out the window dreaming about a brighter future? Bake cookies for the class? Hahahahaha, you simple civilians. I wish I were so naive.

No, you can keep your beautiful Christmas lights and carols full of cheer. Don’t get me wrong - I love them too, but “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” is what the holidays really feel like for a high school teacher, at least one that has a modicum of empathy for their students and an inability to stop thinking about their work. While many of our students would rather not be home with their families, the sentiment is the same as in the song - just maybe modified to “I’ll Be (Hopefully Having A Nice and Peaceful) Home For Christmas”. If only in their dreams.

This song is perfect. When you’re curled up with your very happy family, as I am now, enjoying a good cup of ‘nog and writing away for your meaningless little blog, you need a good old slap back to reality. It makes you more grateful. All of those old crapheap cars you had as a kid make that new Miata that much more fun, just as this wet blanket of a song makes the Christmas tree glow a little warmer. And if you’re having a horrible holiday time, well, it’s nice to know someone else somewhere, at some point in history, was feeling just as low as you are. That’s the real spirit of Christmas.