Have we gone through some strange time warp or is it really the holiday season again? My editor is confirming that December is, in fact, inevitable, and in response to the upcoming holidays, Nexus writers have gathered together to share our stories, thoughts, and beliefs—and, of course, because we’re journalists, the occasional challenge to consumerism.
Through reading our shared stories, it becomes evident that the holidays aren’t some picture-perfect, poorly acted Hallmark movie, filled to the brim with whatever the hell Christmas cheer is (I’ll stick to my Baileys and coffee, thanks). Instead, we offer a realistic insight into what the holidays mean to seven students who are navigating traditions, the ghosts of holidays past, Scrooge-like tendencies, and, of course, cherishing those we love.
Whatever your holiday traditions are, we hope that you have a happy and rejuvenating break. We’ll see you next semester.
Jordyn Haukaas, student editor
Mackenzie Gibson, contributing writer
In the western world, Christmas is dominant and unavoidable. Even people with no religious inclination tend to default to it, simply because it’s already everywhere. But while I enjoy my friends’ Christmas festivities and the less-advertised but equally wonderful Hanukkah celebrations I’ve been invited to, I don’t actually celebrate either tradition.
I’m a Pagan. I come by it naturally, with a long family history of practicing witches. (No, none of us think we can fly or transfigure objects, and, yes, I’m a firm defender of science.) Our focus is on finding spiritual fulfilment through a cyclical relationship with the Earth and her changing seasons. During the holiday season, I celebrate the longest nights of the year: the winter solstice.
On December 21, the sun will set after only eight hours of daylight. This pattern continues for three days, after which the days will start to become longer and we begin the light half of the year. Through the solstice, I celebrate the rebirth of the cycle of the sun.
It’s almost impulsive to seek comfort through this long night, and we all have our rituals to generate that comfort. Most of these involve creating light and gathering our loved ones close to make sure we’re all well-fed. In a lot of ways my celebration is no different, especially since many Christmas traditions were incorporated from Pagan traditions that villages of recent converts weren’t quite willing to give up. The Christmas tree, for one; kissing under the mistletoe, for another.
For me, the solstice is a time to tell all our best stories to make each other laugh, light a fire with offerings of pine, and spend intentional time with my home. It’s important to me to make food from scratch—preferably with local ingredients—so I can spend the time full of attention toward and gratitude for the harvest of the year.
When it comes to gifts, I’m necessarily split. For large family gatherings with my partner’s family, the gifts are curated to their needs, but when I can openly share my own holiday with those close to me, the gifts I give are all created. The function is to give something with a little bit of myself in it. Gifts also aren’t limited to the people around me, but include giving to the environment I call home, or reconnecting with my ancestors. Seed ornaments are left outside for travelling birds, our cats are treated to a long brush by the fire, and offerings of oranges, candles, and hot food are left on my family altar.
I feel lucky that I get to spend my holidays this way, in such deep connection.
Lane Chevrier, contributing writer
The yearly holiday season brings with it “Christmas spirit,” wherein people wish goodwill to their fellow man, and cheer and glad tidings abound. But why? Christians celebrate the birth of Christ, but everyone else only rejoices in the spirit of rampant consumerism, as well as a magical, body-positive Dutchman with a claustrophobia fetish, neither of which embodies gregariousness.
The idea seems to be rooted in rote tradition: as children we learn that Christmas is a time where people are supposed to put their worldly differences aside and be nice to one another. The cynic in me assumes that people are mindless drones who blindly follow cultural norms, while the starry-eyed me recognizes that regardless of whether or not there’s a logical reason to do so, people tend to eagerly embrace a culturally excusable reason to not be assholes to each other all of the time.
Growing up, Christmas was my favourite holiday, because for some reason, my family stopped fighting for three weeks. This period began in early December, and ended at about 1pm on Christmas Day, when the unearthly hype of unopened gifts had jarringly collapsed down into the tepid reality of torn paper, cheap toys, and nausea from too much Pot of Gold chocolate.
As I grew older and more jaded, I began to see the senselessness of the Christmas spirit, observing the same people who wished each other happy holidays on Christmas Eve go right back to yelling and leaning on their car horns in crowded parking lots during Boxing Day Blowout. One perspective is to wonder why we bother to be nice to each other for such a short period of time, but I prefer to wonder this: if we can put the effort into being nice for three weeks out of the year, why can’t we wish each other goodwill during the other 49 weeks?
Perhaps our pleasantries are disingenuous in the first place, like the brief forced smile we give strangers in the elevator before retreating back into our fretful ruminations. Perhaps the extra energy required to be effusive to strangers is too great to sustain, and, like a sugar crash, we cannot help but return to baseline levels of caginess. Or, perhaps Christmas spirit actually shows what we’re capable of as humans, if the concept of “goodwill toward men” were culturally encouraged more than once a year.
We live in fear of the stranger in the shadows, of those beyond our trusted circle, because compassion takes conscious work, and we can’t seem to spare the energy. What this reveals is a lack of community. With community comes familiarity and trust, because we can rest easy, assured that even if we don’t know the person next to us in the elevator, they surely have our best interests in mind. We are safe. This is the idea behind Christmas spirit, and it can only become a year-long reality if we decide, as a community, to put the effort into lowering our defenses and daring to see the stranger in the shadows as merely a reflection of ourself.
Emily Welch, contributing writer
I grew up in a split family, switching week from week from my mom’s to my dad’s. The two houses could not have been more different. My dad had a beautiful house in south Fairfield with all the comforts of home. My mom and step-dad had a piece of property in the Highlands, which they worked for years building a house on. There were many years in the Highlands where our family struggled; the house was being built so we lived in the workshop. We went without electricity for two years, running water for four. We ate a great deal of rice and beans; the household money was paying off the mortgage and the building supplies. We had a wood stove and kerosene lamps. Even without the normal amenities, though, our household was filled with love.
Christmas meant something different in each house. I remember presents and stockings in both places, but shockingly different atmospheres. It seemed, looking back, to be more traditionally commercial in the Fairfield house. It also seemed stressful and pressure-filled—my sister got sick every year. The Highlands house had fewer gifts, but there was a huge tree, cut from the property. The glow from the kerosene lamps cast a golden sheen over us all as we sang Christmas carols, making the entire scene seem truly holy.
There’s one more piece to add, though. I’ve written before about my time on the streets in the Vancouver Eastside when I was a young adult. Christmas was a distant memory, something I knew I wasn’t going to experience except for going to a local food bank where I stood in line to eat a fairly sparse and tasteless form of Christmas dinner while a Christian rock band played, singing about the importance of gratitude and finding Jesus. During these dark times my head filled with memories of the glow of kerosene lamps, and it gave me strength to carry on another year.
Christmas is a time for hope, I believe. All my vastly different holiday experiences help me truly understand the meanings behind the carols we sing. The memories I have of my childhood and, later, the darkness I felt during my years on the Eastside help fill me with empathy and hope for those of us less fortunate. It’s helped me realize over the years that Christmas isn’t just something we experience, but something we have to discover. The true meaning of it lies within.
Daniel Ellerton, contributing writer
Christmas is magic.
I like to reminisce of my childhood on the farm around Christmas, with its warm mix of wood smoke, fresh baked bread, and cider. Us kids would be outside catching fat snowflakes on our tongues, our coats and toques covered in a think white blanket of fluff, the adults laughing at us through the window as I got smoked in the face by a snowball. My grandma always had hot cocoa for us when we came in from the cold. The crackle of the fire was disturbed by a sudden loud pop as a log released its steam and us kids charging inside, our noses leaking from the frosty air outside.
Christmas morning greeted us with the aroma of bacon and eggs as we all jumped out of bed not bothering to even wipe the crust from our eyes. Granddad would sit at the table cool-as-a-cucumber dipping his toast in warm milk and pretending it was just another day. After threatening to start chores—to the many protests from us kids—we followed him upstairs to the treasure that Santa brought.
Those times are especially dear to me as it was one of the few times when our family would gather. My cousins, aunts, and uncles were always there for Christmas. This was the best time of the year. We took them on adventures through the waist-high snow to toboggan, built snow forts, and made snow angels everywhere. We had the most epic snowball fights, and when we were done pelting each other with snow, we rolled the balls into a snowman or two.
As I get older, Christmas has taken on a different meaning. As a young man, Christmas was all about the parties, the glam, and the consumerism. Now that I have kids, I find Christmas to be the most wonderful time of the year again. Seeing the reactions of children around Christmas is magic in itself. The ear-to-ear grin my son had with his new skateboard or the slack-jawed expression my daughter had at getting the Sonic the Hedgehog backpack she wanted from Santa were priceless.
I enjoy taking the kids to see the lights through town singing Christmas song remakes as we drive from neighbourhood to neighbourhood. It’s like Halloween—they race from light display to light display as if trick-or-treating. I love when the kids ask “Is that Santa?” when they see a plane in the night sky.
Most of all, I love the spirit of Christmas. Christmas may have started as a religious holiday, but for many it has transcended religion to become a spirit of giving and happiness. There’s something special about seeing a couple stroll hand-in-hand down a snowy walkway lit by the glowing yellow globes hanging off decorative poles. The magic of Christmas lies within the spirit of each person’s heart.
So, this year, I will sit with my cider as the fire log crackles on the TV and my kids rip open paper like demons and enjoy the magic we all share with our families and friends. This year, I will again be at Our Place volunteering my time for those that have lost that spirit of love in their hearts. This year, I will share the love that was blessed to me with everyone and share the magic of Christmas. This is what Christmas means to me.
Jordyn Haukaas, student editor
Looking back on my childhood, Christmas was complete and utter ecstasy. Is there any drug on the market as powerful as waking up on Christmas morning as a kid? (If there is, please don’t give it to me—it sounds addictive.)
It wasn’t that my family was rich and I was showered in lavish gifts or whisked away to expensive vacations. Instead, my Christmas revolved around our large family unit, and nothing made me happier than full living rooms filled with loud voices and the perfect level of family chaos that would scare any outsider away.
While Christmas Day was the main event, I now realize that I loved the lead-up even more as a kid. I loved how, throughout December, the house would smell of pine from the humble tree we carefully selected from the old Langford tree market.
I can feel the excitement now, remembering how my siblings, cousins, and I would sit by the front window and pray for snow so we could take our crazy carpets down the big hill on our street. When it finally did, our parents would have to drag our nearly frozen and bruised bodies into our respective homes; we would’ve stayed out there all night if we could.
Things have changed a lot since I was kid, and I used to get sad about family traditions fading into obscurity. I’m realizing that yes, of course, a lot of the magic of Christmas has died (cue Cindy-Lou Who: “Christmas, Why Can’t I Find You?”).
To offset the Christmas blues, I’ve decided to sprinkle some magic back into my life by doing the traditions that make me happy. For example, using the holiday season to celebrate the people closest to me—that could mean making them a card, a homemade gift, or carving out time for a dinner or a movie night.
And some traditions that I created on my own since leaving my family home are regulars now, like making myself a rum and eggnog and throwing on my favourite Christmas movie, Gremlins, while I wrap presents. Or decorating my apartment with as many fairy lights as possible.
Whatever the year or season, I’m learning that creating my own traditions is just as fun as reminiscing about my old ones. While it’s bittersweet to admit that this holiday season I won’t be waiting by my front window praying for snow, I will, however, be at my front door eagerly awaiting the arrival of friends for a board-game night. My house won’t smell like a fresh pine tree that I picked out with my family, but this year my boyfriend and I will go to the store and choose the perfect faux tree for our first Christmas living together.
I think the most important thing I’ve learned about traditions is that they grow and evolve as I do, and that’s okay. I can’t wait to see what new traditions I create this year.
AJ Aiken, contributing writer
Growing up, my family had two sets of Christmas traditions, depending on whether we were with my mom’s or my dad’s family. My mom is German, and her family celebrates on Christmas Eve. We would go to church then come home to a cocktail-style spread of food and open our presents. My dad’s side is British—on Christmas Day at my grandparents’ house, we’d wait for everyone to arrive, then we’d open presents. When I was about seven years old, my cousins and I started playing darts (the ’80s were dangerous times) while we waited for the traditional turkey dinner to be served.
At home we did the typical decorating of the tree and hanging of stockings that my grandma crocheted. The tree had to be perfect, coloured ornaments evenly distributed among the handmade ones. My mom’s perfectionism was a tad annoying.
Baking was more fun; decorating sugar cookies was my favourite part of Christmas. My mom still bakes enough for multiple families without any plans for company. Thankfully, the Christmas baking travels well, and she ships some to me from Regina.
Now that I’m a mom, our traditions have changed significantly. First off, we celebrate St. Nicholas Day, a German holiday, on December 6. St. Nicholas gave gold coins to poor families with daughters so they’d have dowries to offer potential husbands.
We don’t have a Christmas tree at home. Neither my son nor I enjoy decorating Christmas trees, so we skip it. To appease my mom one Christmas when she was here, we flipped a green tomato cage upside down, tied the top together, and put lights and a star on it. That’s the closest we’ll get to a Christmas tree.
Another twist is that we don’t exchange gifts; we have “silly stockings.” We prefer making memories and feel Christmas has become too materialistic. The meaning of Christmas, to me, is a reminder that family needs to stick together and press forward when the world tells you there’s no room for you.
So instead of gifts, we agree on a set amount of money to spend on stockings, usually around $20, and buy stuff for the sole purpose of a good laugh or to tease each other. For example, because I leave dirty coffee spoons on the kitchen counter, my son bought me plastic spoons. I bought my son paper straws because he hates them. My mom got a can of “milk drink” due to a funny cartoon boy on the label. Of course, St. Nicholas puts gold coins in our stockings.
Christmas dinner isn’t turkey; it’s BBQ ribs. My kid doesn’t like turkey and cooking a turkey for myself isn’t appealing. We order in BBQ ribs from our favourite BBQ joint; no cooking for me.
We often get quizzical looks from family and friends when explaining our traditions, but we simply smile and shrug our shoulders. There are no rules to making traditions; our traditions follow our values and make Christmas fun for us, and that’s what counts.
Dominique Atherton, contributing writer
I’ve always loved Christmas more than any other holiday—even more than my birthday. That’s thanks to my family, especially my parents, who always made Christmas the best time of the year.
Growing up in England with a household of six kids and two parents, the holidays were full of laughter, food, songs, chaos, and so much love it was cheesy. It still is. We may have not had much, but my parents never made us kids feel like that. We were flush with joy, something no amount of money can buy.
One of my fondest memories was each of us decorating the outside of a black garbage bag with tinsel, glitter, and whatever else we could find and sticking it under the tree for Father Christmas to fill up with presents. It sounds ridiculous now, but I have nothing but happiness around the memory. Every Christmas morning, us kids would wake up early, sneak into the eldest sibling’s room, and sit and talk while mum and dad made sure Father Christmas had been with the gifts. Of course, we know now this was just clever lying. (Thanks, parents, for teaching me how to lie so well.)
While present pandemonium was happening, my dad was in the kitchen whipping up bacon butties (also known as… sandwiches) for everyone, a tradition that’s still a must to this day. Christmas without a bacon butty is like a rainy day without a cuppa tea… it just doesn’t happen.
Leading up to Christmas we always had a Christmas tree decorating party. Mum would make finger foods, and no one could eat until they helped decorate the tree, because otherwise, according to my mum, everyone would bugger off after eating and the tree would remain bare. Along with decorations, our tree was always adorned with tree chocolate, and leading up to December 25 we were allowed one tree chocolate a day. But we were little shits and would sneak a chocolate when no one was looking, or hide them in the middle of the tree so no one could find them. We still do this… So, yeah, “little shits” is still accurate.
Our traditions today are much the same: tree party, bacon butty, and just a really good time, with a few adjustments. My partner and I always order Indian food on the 24th and enjoy Die Hard (well, he enjoys… I tolerate). And during New Year’s we get more Indian food and enjoy the Top Gun movies (these I actually like). But one thing never changes for my family: the love and joy we get from just hanging out is the best tradition and one I’m so grateful to have.
One of the things I’ve noticed with the holidays nowadays is how complicated people try to make it. Gifts are plentiful and people stress themselves out with finding the finances and the time to make it all happen. If I could give anyone one piece of advice, it would be to keep it simple. Spending time with those you love is a much fuller gift than anything you could buy at a store.