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Tuesday night I did two things I've never done before, no
make that three: bought a movie ticket for a friend, run across the street ten
minutes to movie time to buy sugar-free, dairy-free snacks because the local
candy store lacked such delicacies, and question my longtime Christmas
cynicism. The movie in question was Rise
of the Guardians, Dreamworks' newest release.
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The first thing needs no explanation, because we've all
done nice things for friends on whom we've previously cancelled. The second one
involved dashing across the street in jeans and sneakers, giggling like maniacs
and scanning the shelves for sugar-free chocolate and trail mix.
Calorie-burning laughter escaped our lips as we dashed up the steps past a
surprised four-year old with his action figure and an older man who didn't know
to buy tickets downstairs. Because it was a Tuesday night that offered no discounts,
we chose our seats with giddy glee. We had missed most of the previews, and for
good reason; only two preview promised films worth watching.
Rise of the Guardians started with Jack Frost realizing that no one could see
him. We couldn't help but lean in closer as children from the middle ages
passed through him and Pitch Black started to form nightmares. As we met the
Australian Easter Bunny, Hummingbird-like Tooth Fairy, and a buff Santa Claus,
mature cynicism battled with laments as children lost faith in their
quarter-giving, egg-donating heroes. My mind turned to the past for the first
time, with a painful retrospect.
I have three older siblings; one bought Christmas
presents in Santa's name for two years and hid them in our kitchen, and the
other ratted her out two years after the fact. My belief in Santa Claus
shattered like a glass of lemonade on a concrete sidewalk. A similar thing
happened when the Tooth Fairy left a dollar but forgot the tooth, sandwiched
between two pillows. Anger replaced the shock, and acceptance replaced the
anger. After all, wanting things was selfish, and we could use the occasion to
be generous?
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For ten years I have believed that notion, that writing
letters to Santa denoted selfishness, that Christmas focused on getting rather
than giving. Rise of the
Guardians challenges that
notion, asking, "What if the holiday entities need us, instead of us
needing them? Is it wrong to be selfish, wanting quarters for teeth and colored
eggs?"
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The movie also taught me something important: don't ruin
the Guardians' existence for other children; let them enjoy the fantasy of Christmas morning
and baby teeth while they can. Losing belief is like losing a broken-winged
butterfly to a hurricane. Gusts carry the insect away with green lawn chairs
and palm branches, but you don't stop trying to grasp it, to save it from the
cruel weather. At some point the rain splatters between your eyebrows along
with angry resignation. The years pass, no more hurricanes come, and the anger
fades. Adulthood settles in, as do new fantasies and realities. We can never
recollect the original butterfly, and it remains the most precious by having
appeared first.
I've learned my lesson for the holidays and the future,
when I see kids that still believe. That said, I don't advocate the cheesy
"believing is seeing" from the Santa
Clause franchise. We can't
spend our whole lives thinking that a bunny hides Easter eggs in the spring
time or that fairies have quarters for teeth. But we can spend a part of our
lives nurturing that belief; its short lifetime doesn't make its existence less
important.
Happy Christmas. Don't fear the Boogeyman.
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