The United States of Christmas

I don’t remember who was nominated for the Oscars of 2007, but I do remember a huge golden statue. I don’t remember the celebs and their fancy clothing, but I remember parking just a few blocks away, with a sunshine smile between my ears. Then, Sponge Bob and Darth Vader walked down the street to meet Captain Jack, and they all had a cigarette. My girlfriend was so happy to take George Clooney’s photo on the red carpet. An XL security guy with a Made in America mustache asked how on earth we got in without a pass. We said we’re from Israel. His smile became laughter, and he ordered us to leave. Thousands of ecstatic fans from all over the world kissed stars on the sidewalks. The true meaning of American Idol.

There’s nothing wrong with being a kid, no matter how old you are. As long as you don’t hurt anybody. If you can stay a kid, by all means, be my guest.

The following year we found a cool apartment one block west of the Chinese Theatre and the H&H. It was on the safe part of the street (west), but we paid less than most folks in the Valley. It was a catch. I was a “we” and we didn’t need anything else. She and I, in the great wide open. “Check out those chicks!” a friend said as we drove down Hollywood Blvd, just another sunny day. “I wanna sink my teeth into those thighs and AGHRRR!” “I don’t really see ‘em,” I answered. He looked at me as if he wasn’t sure he heard me right. I certified my comment by adding, “I have the best of the best waiting for me at home.” Now, that was Love.

I remember one night, a family with uncles and aunts an’ all. I was helping a friend sell vacuum cleaners door to door. Yes, the Jewish immigrant, same as 2000 years ago. When you gotta make money you’ll go all out and make it, and you’ll never beg. I sold an average of one or two machines a week; and earned a commission that was higher than the average American wage. And just like the average American, I spent it all on a dream. It was Burbank just before Christmas and everything was adorned.

If you look at the US from outer space one month before Christmas you see a net of magical lanterns. The family wanted the vacuum, it really was a good vacuum, but they bargained down to the last penny. It’s a misconception that Americans spend money recklessly. They know how to get what they want and in the way that they want it. This family, was no exception. After a couple hours, their negotiating made my commission disappear, but they were finally ready to buy. Then the uncles said they want one too. This later brought me a monthly bonus and a “golden” pin next day in the office.

I don’t remember the struggling, the uncertainty, the fights. The mean strangers and weird jobs we had to put up with, the cheap food we lived on. I do, however, remember outings we sometimes could afford; nights of a dazzling Hollywood breeze. For the past two weeks, I made a marathon of the 2013 Oscar films. I won’t say I’m objective. On the contrary, I’m not. I stand for my experience and for the elixirs that I’ve earned.

The single moment that struck a chord in my heart in one of the Oscar winning movies, was the moment that contained the song, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas by Frank Sinatra. If the actors were a little less incredibly good looking, I would probably buy into the film a bit more, but then no one would watch it. I mean, for sure, every time a person leaves the mental house back to his folks’ attic he’s sexy and wild. And obviously every time something like this happens, there’s an angelic damsel in distress who chases him down the path of Love. I’ve seen it a million times in the real world. Not.

But do you know what I did see? I saw families flooding up malls smiling and contempt. I saw young parents with small strollers and huge tattoos. I saw MILF’s and kids with white hair, who would put any person in his or her place for saying anything stupid. I saw people who wish for nothing but happiness and freedom, and every year on November 30^th break some savings and buy dreams because it’s fun. TV feeds us commercials 24/7. What’s wrong with treating your family generously once a year when everything costs less than one week’s beer and diapers? It’s good to let go of the stress by spending savings in a responsible way. I remember a nation of people who mostly retire in their 60s to start the best years of their lives by renovating hot rods and fishing and watching TV.

Here’s a good, simple song about not judging what’s different - Mike Younger with If By Chance We Meet Again: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9LJkZPlddRY

What I’m saying is, I wish more people would be a little more childish and a little less judging. I miss the United States of Christmas. I miss it more than words can tell. I’m not envious, but I’m sick of reminiscing. I wish it was a bit easier. Even when life in the new-old country starts to get on track, emigration and integration are layers upon layers of adaption and acclimation. You think you’re done with one step, and ten more come up. No one understands the loneliness. I feel that if I’m not the same as the locals in the country I live in, I’m not as wanted.

They all seem so sure of themselves, no matter where you are. I keep on reminding myself to move forward and to be grateful, and people believe and look up to me because I’m not a part of one defined system. Yet something inside longs for what used to be, and not what’s now. Consciously, I chose my place long ago and I was kicked between the eyes, twice. Sometimes, our worst enemies are memory and free choice. Then, they become our strength.