I do not have what you might call the proper amount of Christmas spirit. I don’t decorate. I don’t listen to carols. I barely haul my butt to church even one time during the Christmas season. I wrap presents with the same enthusiasm I pick up dog poop. This was a sore spot with my family for many years, as they all wanted to come to my house for Christmas, and I did not care to make it special.
In order to get even, my dad called in some favors with his Boss — you know, The Big Guy. The one with the son whose birth the Phillipses wanted to celebrate at my house but I lacked the proper enthusiasm. As a result, I now have to accompany the Ghost of Christmas Present each year until I learn to have some holiday joy. It’s a pretty OK bit of penance. He’s got Jim Morrison hair and is surrounded by holly and food, and he has a soft green robe he wears open like he’s Harry Styles. We flit about picking on rich people and laughing at the antics of children who mistake us for stoner Santa and spouse.
This year, though — man, whew. We went to see Gov. Bill Lee. I can’t say who loves him enough, still, to claw their way back from beyond the veil to play Jacob Marley to his Scrooge, nor can I say what form the Ghost of Christmas Past had taken for him. But when we showed up, he seemed very happy to see us. Very hospitable, even. He offered us the cookies and milk that had been set out for Santa. He let me sit in the comfy chair right by his fire.
I looked at GCP (Ghost of Christmas Present) and he just shrugged. The governor’s past Christmases must have been delightful. The spirit of the season was upon him.
After we were done with our midnight snacks, Bill Lee gently held my hand and firmly held onto GCP’s robe. We stepped forward, and next thing I knew, we were in downtown Franklin. Shoppers were bustling along the sidewalks. People were shouting “Merry Christmas” at each other and hugging their friends like they hadn’t just seen them at Publix earlier in the week. The governor strolled happily through the streets, looking at the scenes surrounding us and nodding in a satisfied manner.
Maybe because I’ve been at this for a number of years, but the longer I looked, the more I saw just a little sheen of sadness over some people. I saw an old lady reach out her hand by habit and then drop it because the man who should have held that hand was no longer with us. I overheard a dad explaining to his daughter how exciting it was going to be this year for her to have two Christmases: one at his house and one at her mom’s house. The looks on both their faces showed that neither of them was convinced that this new arrangement was going to be exciting.
Next we were at a hospital, where we saw a nurse cutting pieces of cake and putting them on paper plates. We followed her as she handed cake to every employee she came across. She wished each of them a Merry Christmas and offered a “God bless you” to everyone who said “you too.” Bill Lee looked over at us and nodded, clearly proud and delighted at this kind woman, thriving in our state. He and GCP strolled on down the hall, but I lingered near the nurse. One of her co-workers asked how she was celebrating once her shift ended. “I’m not,” she said, sadly. “I’m going to go by the cemetery and spend some time with my dad. In my head I know it’s not my fault he’s dead, but I brought it home, and he wasn’t vaccinated, and ...”
Suddenly, I was standing in an office building with GCP and Bill Lee. At first, it looked like any office building in the middle of the night. But as we started moving through the halls and glancing in the offices, I saw pallets made up under desks, with blanketed child-size lumps. Here we were in the Department of Children’s Services. I kept waiting to see if Lee would acknowledge any of the kids or make any effort to comfort them or, I don’t know, anything. But he just kept smiling like everything was great, like he couldn’t even see them.
Every stop we made was like that: Bill Lee smiling with pride and pointing out all the good things around him and bragging to GCP about how wonderful our state is. And sure, if you’re making an advertisement to encourage tourists to come here, that’s a great ability. But when you’re standing in front of people who lost loved ones to COVID or kids sleeping in office buildings or women with ectopic pregnancies who can’t get abortions and are afraid they’re going to die?
Even the part at the end of the visit when GCP opened his robes to show Lee the children, Ignorance and Want, Lee just nodded and smiled at them.
“Wonderful,” he said, much to both our surprise and the children’s confusion. He went on: “Think of the private enterprises we can encourage to address these problems.”
I started to argue that these aren’t problems to solve, but children who need compassion, but GCP put his hand on my shoulder and shook his head. He considered it a lost cause. Leave it to the next spirit to try to get through to the governor. GCP could not.
Once the governor was gone, GCP and I stood together a minute. Finally, I said, “Well damn, that was weird and disheartening.”
“There are some upon this earth of yours,” returned the Spirit, “who claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“It makes me feel better,” GCP laughed.
And with that, he wished me a Merry Christmas and was gone until next year.
And with this, I wish you all a Merry Christmas — and I, too, will see you in the new year.
