At some point in the past fifty years, Christmas died, Thanksgiving grew aggressive and crowded and Valentine’s Day contracted a crippling virus.
I’m afraid our holidays are under attack from the very people who celebrate them.
If you haven’t walked into a store or logged onto the Internet during the months of October, November, December, January, February – OK, all the months but April – then you might not have noticed the stout tenacity with which all shops try to sell their seasonal inventory and all websites try to capitalize on the nearest holiday’s theme.
And we buy it.
Come September there’ll be Halloween decorations for sale, and by October, the table you once used to serve Thanksgiving supper will be entirely dedicated to this year’s plan of attack on Black Friday. Thanksgiving is a good Thursday to go to the movies and rest for the big spree the next day, which of course is only the first preparation for the coming of the true Christmas spirit, consumerism.
Don’t even try entering a Walgreens for the first six weeks of the New Year, unless you love preservative packed chocolates wrapped up in pink and sales tags.
On Sunday, many Americans will celebrate Father’s Day, one of the last strongholds of a true holiday spirit that is nevertheless under siege from advertisers for golf clubs and cigars. What once might have been a meaningful gift has transformed into yet another commercial for “the perfect Father’s Day.” It’s almost an entirely Hallmark-driven occasion, but megastores have not yet robbed its authenticity completely.
If Christmas is Stage Four, Father’s Day is just entering Stage Two.
But as the thoughtful presents continue to give way to those more cheaply mass-produced, how can anyone treat his or her primary progenitor with a unique and worthy Sunday?
Do not listen to the commercials on ESPN or heed the advertisements in Sky magazine; avoid the traps of obvious simplicity. Instead consider the more subtle simplicity of the rarest gift of all: time.
Yes, your dad may be pining after a new driver, but it would probably pale in comparison to a long-delayed round of 18 with his son, or a dinner and a movie with his daughter.
Why would the man who suffered the occasion of raising you – no offense, but diapers, car insurance and prom dresses aren’t cheap or fun – want to spend time with you? In our wireless, iEverything society, genuine experience has been traded in for Instagram snapshots of perfect days and emailed itineraries of busy ones. “Go ahead, follow me on Twitter,” or “Let’s be friends on Facebook.”
The relative value of time has subsequently skyrocketed, and any student of Economics 201 knows that as demand increases, less supply can be sold for more. Undivided attention for a few hours, once an expectation of social conduct, is now considered a gift and accepted as a touching gesture. Coupled with American-as-apple-pie consumerism, the Internet Age has reduced genuine interaction to overpriced greeting cards or (worse!) ad-laden eCards.
The technology improvements have also paved the way for more impressive items on the shelves. Considering the growing size of student loan debt, no one can blame a kid for choosing the newest gizmo over sacrificing a shift at work to kick it with his Pops. Creative destruction has been stalking the holidays ever since the first next-day delivery service made online shopping a no-brainer.
If an afternoon spent with Dad lies just outside your reach, the typical holiday treatment does not necessarily fall short of adequacy. He may love that new driver or Bob Seger DVD.
But for those college students who have ever felt a twinge of guilt at their lacking acts of gratitude for the man who raised them – okay, that’s all of us, right? – consider the possibilities afforded this Sunday.
Father’s Day is an opportunity to stave off the impending doom of another holiday-turned-sales-occasion. It’s a chance to unplug from your Apple screen and plug into your family tree.
Give time, not a greeting card.
R.J. Vogt is a junior in College Scholars. He may be reached at [email protected].
