Watching my 13-year-old daughter, Bryel, traverse through the weeks before Christmas has made me long for the days of Christmas past. Being romantically nostalgic, I miss the wonder of the holidays, the theme of peace, the frantic excitement to make a child's Christmas wish list come true, the spontaneous thrill of a surprise, and the magic of Santa Claus.
Sadly, these classic characteristics of the holidays have been exorcized from Bryel, not by the magnificent spirit of Christmas, but by the spirit of instant gratification erupting from modern technology.
Gone are the days of Bryel snuggling in the recliner with me perusing the circulars from the Sunday Times Union for gifts she wanted from St. Nick. Gone are the clandestine trips to the mall so Mom and Dad could eavesdrop on Bryel's conversation with Santa to finalize her official Christmas list. Gone is the precious image of our child with Santa captured forever in a photo package, now replaced by a cellphone picture delivered immediately to cyberspace which, according to Bryel, already has 82 likes on Instagram.
Welcome to 2013, and the trade-off of childhood innocence for our daughter's selfie teenage obsessions instantly immortalized with a cellphone. Instead of a handwritten note for Santa, Bryel now takes an infinite number of photos of Christmas gifts she desires and sends the pictures to me for viewing on my computer screen. "Now you and Mom won't get me a gift I don't want for Christmas."
Yesterday, a photo of suede boots appeared on my laptop. Bryel was standing over me, and Springsteen was singing "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town," on the stereo. In the kitchen, Bryel's younger brother baked holiday cookies with his mother. (Some things were still beginning to look a lot like Christmas.) I noticed the cost of the boots more than the style. "Aren't they great!?" Bryel exclaimed pointing to the photo.
"Ugggggggh...." I grumbled looking at the price again.
"Exactly, Dad... UGG boots... from Australia!"
Someone help me with my math: UGG boots, plus a new smartphone, plus jewelry, multiplied by tickets from a scalper on Stubhub for the Justin Timberlake concert at the Times Union Center — equals another mortgage on my home. Right?
Bryel contends that the gesture of sending photos of desired gifts will eliminate the controversial holiday tradition of regifting. I asked Bryel why that insight didn't apply to my birthday when she beautifully wrapped three bottles of her favorite body lotion for my present only to regift them to herself. In this generational debate on holiday traditions, I was the father of Christmas past. I told Bryel that regifting has always existed and is even documented in a classic holiday song.
"What are you talking about now, Dad?" Bryel was defenseless against the absurdity of my argument.
"The Christmas song you sang in the car yesterday." I tossed the proverbial bait to my daughter. "That song just proves every present can be regifted."
"What!?" (Confusing and annoying Bryel was my payback for her rapid descent into the addictive world of technology. Besides, I'm not even sure if Obamacare would cover a program to assist in Bryel's withdrawal and recovery.)
"According to that song even someone's heart can be regifted —and there is no way your smartphone can snap a picture of that."
So I sang to prove my point:
Last Christmas I gave you my heart
But the very next day you gave it away.
Still, the joke is on me. I have lost the battle of holiday traditions with my teenager. After Santa arrives I will simply collapse into the recliner and watch Bryel tear through the Christmas wrapping to reveal an expected gift precisely chosen from a photo she sent to me.
Merry Christmas, Bryel. Are you going to the bank with me tomorrow? I have to sign papers for my home equity loan.