The Grinch That Stole Christmas Letters

What does it say that I can remember typing a paper out on a manual typewriter when I took my first college class? On Saturday I emailed my professor my last paper of the semester. I'm sometimes blown away by technology. I mean, can you imagine going back in time to 1991 and trying to explain to someone, email, the Internet, or even iPods? Sheez.

Still was nice to click the send button though.

I'm currently sitting in a room full of undergrads typing this while they take their final for ED 100. Eyes in the back of head my friend, eyes in the back of my head... ED 100 is a class that wanna-be teachers take to study educational philosophy, you know, the big questions in teaching: What is affective teaching? What makes a good teacher? Why aren't teachers paid more? Ok, maybe not the last question, but you get the idea. It's actually a class I hated when I took it. I can see me now: I hate this class, what does this class have to do with teaching history, man, these writers don't know nothin' about teaching, what does Dewey know about teaching nowadays, he's old, I'm young, I know what's good teaching...I suspect I was the type of student I would hate to have now as a teacher.

Turned 33 yesterday, blah. Oh, the day was fine. Laura and Jack were awesome, but I was a little grumpy. I think I have a problem with the whole-time-marches-on thing that birthdays come to represent for us after, the age of 25. It's your birthday. You're one-year older. And. There's. Nothing. You. Can. Do. About. It.

Ah, Christmas. Actually, I don't have a problem with Christmas. Looking forward to it this year. Our present to ourselves this year is a trip back home to see friends and family. We're excited. We thought about doing Christmas cards and then, well, I had papers to finish, Laura had deadlines at work, and Jack, well, he's still too young to dump those responsibilities on him.

One thing you will NOT be receiving from us, ever, is a Christmas letter. You know, what I talking about (and I apologize in advance to those of you who have written them in the past, I'm sure they were fine). Christmas letters are those letters you get from friends explaining to everyone how wonderful their lives have been in the past year.

[to be read in sarcastic mocking-voice]
Oh, Bob got a promotion, and we bought a new house, and our 10-year old looks like a model, our dog had puppies, and we all love one another...blah, blah, blah.

The theme of just about every Christmas letter I read is: We're so happy. People who say they're "so happy" make my ass twitch. People who actually put it in print...well, I just don't know. It can't ALL be good this past year, can it? And yes, you could say, "but Ed, why would want to read about the bad stuff?" And I don't want to read just the bad stuff. It's just that Christmas letters have the feel of old Soviet-run newspapers back in the day. Which is to say, they're a little boring, and well, kind of phony.

Just once I'd like to read the anti-Christmas letter...

Well, this year was, to tell you the truth, hard. Didn't it suck a little at times? It wasn't all bad. But we made it through and we're ready to give 2006 a go.

What do you think, unrealistic? Probably. And I've probably permanently removed us from the Christmas card lists of those of you still thinking, "why does he hate Christmas letters?"

Next post will be from Tacoma!