Christmas in Massachusetts

Ah, December 25. Characterized by wreaths and decorated trees, carols and Santa hats, and good cheer that can barely dampen.

My parents and Memere just left this fifth-floor apartment overlooking the sea to scoop up my Pepere from his hospital bed. Everyone deserves to be home with family on Christmas.

Yesterday, I sat at a little table in Berwick, Pennsylvania diner, chatting with my Great-uncle Bill about politics. Just as we came to a truce (both of us disappointed in Bush and concerned for Obama), a wrinkled man with sparkling eyes sidled over to stir up trouble.

"Ah, that Obama," he spat. "He's just so full of himself, I can't stand him."

My fists clenched beneath the table, and my eyes grew all stony as I stared straight ahead.

"He's not going to do our country any good," the tirade continued.

My eyes flashed up at him, "Well, he can't do much more damage than Bush has done. Besides, we needed a change."

He continued his bashing; I must admit, I simply quit listening. He was the sort who would listen to no reason and accept no other opinions. When his steam had emptied, I looked into those shiny eyes and wished him a merry Christmas.

That's what change is all about, isn't it? In that instant, I realized I couldn't get angry at this man. I could only love him. Our country is so divided already. Democrats and republicans snapping at each other's throats, bashing each other's politicians and ideologies. The United States got to this state by losing community, by losing respect for the differences we were created to let bloom.

I will not continue the divisiveness; I will make spreading the one thing we all need more of, compassion, my life's goal. But first, I need to stop getting angry when people bash Obama or McCain, perhaps offering small checks of reality, and to learn to bite my tongue when my own bashings scream to erupt.

Merry Christmas, World! Happy holidays to each person, each gloriously unique person, whose differences make this world so incredibly special.