Output

It's almost midnight on Christmas. I should be thinking about my presents, should be thinking about sleep, should at least be relaxing. But here I am, eye-deep in gifts I absolutely had to have--gifts I will have forgotten about in six, eight, twelve months, and I am pondering an idea.

This idea came to me out of nowhere when I was sitting at my grandma's house earlier today. My younger family members were opening presents, screaming at unreasonable volume levels when they freed something wonderful from its wrapping-paper cocoon. I was watching them intently when suddenly I was struck by a thought. A thought that turns Christmas on its head. I quickly put the idea in my mental filing cabinet.

"What if Christmas is not limited by what I receive? For that matter, what if the secret to living, the secret to thriving does not rest in the rewards of others, but in my own output?"

I looked up. My cousin was still screaming about his Knight Costume and showing it to his baby sister while she played with her new princess doll. They were carrying on as though everything was okay while the Christmas tree inside my head had just caught fire.

"What if Christmas is not limited by what I receive?"

This idea goes against much of what children are taught today. "Be good Johnny, because Santa will only give presents to good boys." Personal gain is the only motivation for being "good". It seems to me that Santa and all of his Christmas cohorts have ignored the line of the well-known carol:

"He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake.

He knows if you've been bad or good, SO BE GOOD FOR GOODNESS SAKE."

In the economy of Kris Kringle, children are not taught the true motivation behind behaving well. They are good only because they expect something in return, not because it is the best way to behave. As soon as Saint Nick's true identity is revealed, what is to stop these children from being bad? Is our society really so debased in its moral principles that the only way parents can figure out how to squeeze good behavior out of children is to bribe them? Is this really the way the world works?

"..not limited by what I receive?"

To the children who are thrilled with the prospect of Jolly Old Saint Nicholas scurrying down their chimney and rewarding their goodness, this sounds completely preposterous. "Christmas is NOT about presents?? You must be kidding me!!" No, kids, I'm being one hundred percent serious. When I consider Christmases past, I don't remember any of the gifts that I received. I do remember the fun that I had with my family. When I think back to Christmas as a kid, I remember wrestling with my uncles. I remember eating Christmas dinner with my Grandma. I remember one Christmas when my entire family was staying in my grandma's house and her plumbing broke. I remember the squirming during the two-hour car ride home that night.

You see, I only remember my output, the little contributions I made into the lives of the people around me (like the bruises I gave my uncles). Maybe that's what Christmas is all about. Maybe it's a little silly to operate on a system of bribery. After all, last time I checked, the presents aren't the reason for Christmas. It all started with the birth of a Baby, with the giving of a Gift so immeasurable that a choir of angels couldn't do it justice. It all started with Output.

All Trick and No Treat

            We've all seen kids dressed up on Halloween. It's always the same every year: ghosts, grim reapers, skeletons, Superman, and that one costume based on the painting The Scream. You've got the same kids showing up on your doorstep every year, all saying the same dopey phrase-- TRICK OR TREAT!--as if they actually expect us to sit there and make a decision on whether to trick them or give them candy. Many a year I am tempted to close the door in their faces with nothing but the word trick.

            One of those kids came to my house a few weeks ago. I was sitting in the living room watching reruns of The Andy Griffith Show when I heard the sound I had been dreading all night -- the piteous squawking of the doorbell. When I opened the door, a kid no older than six or seven was standing on my porch. He had on one of those skeleton masks with the clear lining in the front of it so that when he squeezed a little "heart," "blood" would cascade down the crevices of his cadaverous mask. He expectantly thrust his already sizeable bag of candy toward me. Sure enough, when he sensed the slightest hesitation on my part, he reached for his little heart-pump, as if by showing me the "blood" trickling down his face he would form some irrevocable bond between us and I would be entitled to give him candy. I guess I'm just a sucker for little kids with bloody masks, but I gave him his candy, closed the door, and returned to my friends Barney and Andy.

            That kid got me thinking though. Thinking about how telling of our society his gruesome little costume is. You see, we all have our masks. I go through about ten (or more) masks a day. When I climb into the driver's seat of my Nissan Titan, I put on the mask of Pick-Up Truck Driver. I get to school and for the next eight hours, I rapidly switch between masks like AP Historian, Pre-AP Physicist, and Estudiante de Español Tres. Most Fridays, I step on the stage in the auditorium and wear my Guitar Player and Singer mask for about an hour before transitioning to my Quint-Player mask for the football game that night. I'm exhausted just writing about all the different people I have to be.

            But none of them are me. At least, none of them give you a complete picture of who I am. Sure, I do drive a truck and study history and play guitar and all of those things. But if that's all you knew about me then you wouldn't really know me at all. You wouldn't have the complete picture. Imagine if my tombstone read like this: Here lies a high-school Spanish student. It would be a tragedy! Because that's not who I am.

            To quote one of the greatest thinkers in the history of mankind, Nacho Libre, "Beneath the clothes, you find a man." Beneath the Foreign Coffee Connoisseur mask of the corporate businessman, you find a flawed man trying to purchase happiness. The second-rate politician wants to get ahead so what does he do? He squeezes his heart-shaped pump and the "blood" of empty promises and wise words he does not mean runs down the surface of his mask, distorting his image and fooling the faceless tides of his particular party into supporting him. But underneath his beautifully sculpted mask he is still just a man searching for completion in a world where completion can't be found.

            Why don't we come together as a community of travelers? Let's throw off our masks and journey together down the road to humanity. Imagine the exhilarating freedom of not having to remember which particular mask you have to wear next, of being able to just be you. Maybe we should leave the Halloween masquerading for the children. Maybe we should cut out the trick so we can experience the treat.