It wasn’t until I had kids that my hatred for holiday music began to take form. It is not so much that I hate the sound of the done-one-too-many-times “Oh Holy Night” on the radio, nor is it that I loathe at the sound of my beautiful 6 year old daughter and her melodic voice. It’s that these two things streamed together is a lethal combination. It is almost as if they teach Kindergartener’s to loop their voices, telling them to sing the parts they know over. And over. And over. And so what if they’re wrong? Does a 6 year old pay any mind to lyrics? Or is it just something that irks me because I am a lyric buff? Take for example, yesterday, when Abbi asked me in arguably the most polite voice I’d ever heard, to please turn the radio off, as she was going to provide the soundtrack for our journey to grandma and grandpa’s house. Now I am no scrooge, and to prove this fact, I quickly- and hiding my reluctance- switched the music off and let her have at it. She began with an innocent rendition of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” and at first, it was quite pleasant. Like I said, I am not a curmudgeon and am open to any musical talent my daughter may inhabit, but after the 27^th inevitable “he sees you when you’re sleeping”, I was wishing Mr. Claus would take flight early, and through faulty navigation, mistakenly land on my car and knock me into a coma. This is not to say that I wish harm on my children! I just wish that holiday songs would make themselves scarce this season. We are in a recession, aren’t we? They should follow suit.

            I have also noticed that people develop a severe inability to drive as though they were ever issued a valid license. I understand that Miami is overcrowded. I understand that people do not comprehend the idea of a four way stop, or the right of way, or a merge lane. But why is it that during the season of cheer and bright lights, people’s incompetence comes out of the wood work like a red-tag sale? It seems as though they deliberately drive 15 miles slower than the speed limit when approaching a green light, and drive 35 miles over just to slam on their brakes at the red ones. And the idea that decorating one’s car to resemble a reindeer is festive? Who are they kidding? It is still just a 10 year old Hyundai, maybe even a Mazda, but definitely not in any way, shape, or form a contributing vessel for Santa and the overpriced gifts he bears in his sack. Or his reindeer. Or the elves. I don’t care how big the Lincoln Navigator is. It is still an SUV, not a sleigh. Get over it, so I can, too.

            I know I sound like I hate the Holidays. I actually look forward to them, and this anticipation starts shortly after Halloween. I love Thanksgiving, although I think we have our own version of it. Still, that is kind of how the U.S.A. works; we sort of embellish the one good thing we did until it is completely stretched over all of the bad. Either way, I will eat turkey with a smile plastered on my face. I really do love Christmas, and if the fact that my mom is Jewish leads anyone to believe that this clearly explains my aversion to Holiday songs, one would be sadly misguided. I hate Chanukah songs just as much. I don’t enjoy “hiding Gelt”, which turns out is just dried out chocolate disguised as “gold coins” too big to really be anything other than pennies. I don’t enjoy reading from the Torah, with my senile Grandmother asking me why my breasts look smaller than they did last year. Maybe it’s something in the Matzo Ball soup? Jesus, I don’t know. I don’t understand why, up until I had my own child, I had to sit at the “kids table”. Do other families do this? It was even a real table. It was a folding card table with the expected uneven leg, so by the end of the meal that none of us enjoyed, the brisket had been knocked over at least 3 times. 3 times, you ask? Seeing as though the youngest of the “kids” at the “kids table” was carrying a restricted license and worked 20 hours a week at Publix, any time one of us “kids” would move slightly to the right or to the left, our knees would hit the underbelly of the table, hence disturbing the thawed out brisket that was probably saved from last year’s dinner. It’s a good thing we weren’t orthodox. Without electricity on high holy days, how would we have re-used frozen food?

            I am calm now. There are 20 days left to enjoy before Christmas morning arrives. I need to gather my sanity, as it has been scattered around various parts of the Miami area, and start shopping for my daughters. I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when they wake up Christmas morning to discover what Santa Claus has brought them. Why, just today, Mr. Claus was making his rounds at Publix and Abbi, my six year old, did not believe it was him. “Santa does not grocery shop, Grandma; besides, he looks way too young to be Santa. He looks like a KID.” She said these words to my mother, adamantly.

            Maybe, just maybe, it won’t be long before we can dislike holiday music together. Until then, I will keep my radio off and let her sing the soundtrack to all of my journeys in life, whether it’s Christmas songs or not. After all, being a parent to daughters as great as mine makes me feel like every day is a holiday. I can grin and grit through one more rendition of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”, as long as they promise to grant me one Silent Night on December 26^th.