Life

I hate it that giving stuff is equated with love

Christmas has become a frenzy of buying, the warped message being that the more you give (and the more expensive the gift), the more you care. But you don't have to bankrupt your family to let them know you love them, writes Leona O'Neill

Ooh, I hope it's not a homemade scarf from Auntie Leona
Ooh, I hope it's not a homemade scarf from Auntie Leona Ooh, I hope it's not a homemade scarf from Auntie Leona

CHRISTMAS seems to start earlier and earlier every year. The air is still heavy with the scent of spent fireworks and the pumpkins have barely begun to decompose before the Christmas lights sparkle to life and the Christmas adverts for the perfect festive season roll out.

And then the pressure on parents ramps up through November and December to buy, buy, buy!

We have all long bought into the notion that Christmas is a commercial season. To be honest, I'm already sick of having perfect Christmas deals and offers rammed down my throat, and we've still a full month of this to endure.

To make matters worse, we seem to have adopted our American cousins' 'Black Friday' commercial holiday without all the craic of the food and drink of Thanksgiving. It's just another way to make us spend our money. November and December have now become a relentless cycle of spending and commercial farce.

I don't remember it being like this when we were kids. My mum and dad didn't go mad at Christmas. We got one thing, normally something my dad had made with his own hands, and we loved it.

I still have the wooden rocking horse that he made me, and my Mum's attic at home is stuffed to the rafters with wooden cots he crafted for my dolls, or doll's houses he fashioned for me and my sister, or train sets he made for my brothers. I could go on and on.

I'm not going to go all religious on you. Don't tell my mum, but I'm not a big Mass-goer. The whole standing up at the wrong times and not knowing the prayers puts me right off.

But I'm still a big believer in the big man – God, not Santa. And I fear we are so far removed from the idea that Christmas is about sharing warmth and love with our family and friends, and more about shopping, that we may not ever be able to go back.

A friend of mine was at a Christening on Saturday with her seven-year-old daughter. After the ceremony her girl wanted to visit the Nativity scene in the corner of the church. She asked who these people were in 'the barn' and why they were all looking into an empty bed. The priest came over and explained that the a very important person was born on Christmas Day and that the empty crib symbolised that we were all, during this holiest of holy seasons, waiting for him.

And her daughter turned to her mother and asked. “I didn't know Christmas was Santa's birthday. That's brilliant!”

In front of a priest. In God's actual house.

My friend made her excuses and shooed her girl from that place. She told me her daughter truly believes that Jesus Christ is a mechanic, as her mother calls loudly for him when her car breaks down, as it frequently does, and she felt that the priest didn't really need any more shocking that day.

Already this week we have heard how much money the average parent in Northern Ireland spends on their children at Christmas – apparently £250 per child – but I know plenty who spend far, far more. We are inundated with adverts peddling some gift or object that will make your Christmas special, or tell your family you love them. And the shops are full of shiny things that they say will make our Christmasses, and therefore our lives, better.

I absolutely hate that the giving of things is equated with love. I don't need to give my family stuff to let them know I love them and I am renowned for making gifts – be that badly knit scarves, reasonably edible baked stuff or handmade chocolates with far too much alcohol in them – at Christmas instead of bought items.

They might not be shop-bought fancy, but I made them their gift with love, thinking about the things that they love. They may go straight in the bin when they all go home, but it's the thought that counts.

The sad truth is there are some mums and dad, who love their children just as much as you and I love ours, who won't be able to gift them anything at all this Christmas. What little money they have has to be used to light and heat their homes. There is nothing left for luxuries like presents; money has to be spent on keeping going, on putting food in bellies, getting those kids out to school every day and trying to live a normal a life as possible in these times of austerity. This is not a rarity any more – this is people on your street.

Christmas means different things to different people. For some, who have lost someone they love, the season is a stark and painful reminder of the void in their lives. For others, who may not have big families or any family at all to gather together it is a painful time to endure. No amount of buying stuff can help that.

And for others who are lucky enough to have money to spend, family to gather and food to eat, it's a fabulous season. Each to their own.

I'm not saying that I'm going to go full Scrooge on my kids and gift them a hug and nothing else on Christmas Day, but I'm not going bankrupt either. My kids know I love them, every damn day of the year, they don't need the latest iPhone or tablet to reinforce that notion.

So they are all getting badly knitted scarves for Christmas. I'll let you know how that goes down.