There is always a sense of hyperbole and a general overstated distaste when people reflect on the events of a previous 12 months. Scornfully condemning the year as one of the worst in living memory, expressing a venerated gratitude for the impending sanctity and promise of a new year. Yet I think it’s fair to surmise that few of us will look back on 2020 with any genuine admiration. For all intents and purposes, Christmas 2020 has been cancelled for some of us. Indefinitely postponed at a time when most people were looking to forget and, for a brief solitary moment, remember a time when facemasks weren’t a common safety appliance. Plans have been quashed, schedules changed and that respite from reality has been irreparably altered. This news, delivered by the nations first democratically elected bog brush, was imparted with all the sincerity of an Ellen DeGeneres apology, confirmed what most political analysts had been speculating for days: A Tier 4 lockdown for London and most of the South East, that essentially act’s as another compulsory lockdown.
My partner and I watched the news, alternating exasperated sighs, dismayed that things had regressed to such an extent. As she began to make emotional calls to her mother, insisting that this wouldn’t affect our Christmas plans, her initially defiant attitude slowly diminished, the severity of the situation finally acknowledged. She has always been close with her family, especially her mother. So her mandatory absence and support over the Christmas period will be utterly devastating for my better half. Rona, like most viruses has mutated, developing into a more virulent strain than the one that has fettered civilised society for the majority of 2020, so its necessary that precautions are taken to reduce its dispersion and potentially save lives. But it just seems so unfair that after a year of intermittent existing, that Christmas isn’t the nullifying reprieve from that uncertainty. Particularly for my daughter.
Having explained the situation to my 4 year old in a way that she could comprehend I felt a little relieved. Bless her, she just smiled, nodded in acceptance and started describing how soft her slippers were. 2020 seems especially cruel to her as earlier in the year we had to celebrate her 4th Birthday in isolation. Opening gifts from the doorstep, as family waited at the end of our drive. And sadly these will be her childhood memories. The snapshot of her past she will remember most vividly. It’s our duty as parent’s to salvage the spirit of Christmas as best we can, to ensure that her recollections, though secluded are cherished memories to hold dear. Christmas isn’t made up of things. It isn’t the surface level adjunctives of gaudy decorations or consumerist incentives. Its moments. Nostalgia. Comfort.
We might not be able to provide her with the traditional, family orientated experience that we’d like. But we can ensure that the limitations extended by a “Rona Christmas” doesn’t restrict her enjoyment, whimsy and most importantly the surreal evocation of that time one Christmas when she had to endure her father’s obsessive addiction to Sage & Onion stuffing and “The Muppets Christmas Carol”.
Wherever you are and whatever you are doing, stay safe, stay resilient and remember that thing’s won’t always be like this. Have a Merry Christmas and a happy, as well as Covid free new year. Cheers!
Game, Complain, Repeat 