South Alabamian

Here’s to a little tacky Christmas cheer



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We had a Christmas party at work the other day and were told to wear tacky Christmas sweaters.

That created a problem because I’m not the biggest sweater person. They’re too “poofy” and look like they itch.

Besides, sweaters aren’t good for work. I get hot in my classroom even on the coldest days. I’m on the second floor and heat rises, so it’s best to dress in layers so I can adjust for the blistering December temperatures.

Christmastime warmth in the air gave me an idea for the party. I chose to wear my tackiest Christmas Hawaiian shirt.

The drag on that plan: A closet full of tacky Hawaiian shirts, but not one of them is of the Christmas variety. I’ve got no surfing Santas or Ralphies with their BB guns.

I improvised by picking a greenish shirt and wore it with a red t-shirt. Nobody complained, so I assumed the office party forms were followed.

The unseasonably warm weather has encouraged me to follow another Christmas tradition. This one goes back to my earliest days.

My mother’s side of the family liked to pile into the car and drive around to see everybody’s decorative lights. We “oohed” and “ahhed” through the neighborhood.

I heard a song once that went to the tune of “Silver Bells”: “Tacky lights, tacky lights/It’s Christmastime in (whatever city you wanted to slam with the parody).”

But I don’t think of Christmas lights as being tacky. I love that people celebrate the start of winter and the darkest night of the year by spreading light.

Because it’s been comfortably in the 60s and 70s, I’ve been walking the dog at night and getting a multicolored show every time we go around the block.

My modern-day experience with Christmas lights has pluses and minuses when compared to sweet, old times with the family.

The weather is more pleasant these days. I don’t recall it being this warm back then, but let’s not dive into topics that could divide us during the holiday season.

One of the positives for 2021 is the air is so fresh and clean during my walks. When I was a kid, the Surgeon General had yet to issue his warnings, and there were plenty of smokers in the family. Every viewing of the sparkling and twinkling lights was enhanced with a tobaccofueled haze inside the car.

Just as an aside, I covered a professional wrestling match one winter. As soon as I walked through the double doors, my nose was assailed with the combination of cigarette smoke and kerosene heaters. My photographer twisted her face in disgust, but it smelled like the Christmas season to me.

It might not have seemed like it then, but my family members were the true lights during those long ago drives. We stuffed that car. My sister and I sat on the laps of sometimes cranky, always wonderful people who’ve since said goodbye to this world.

A friend sent me a collection of Elvis Presley Christmas songs, and I play them every year. There’s some rocking stuff, some bluesy stuff and some deeply affecting stuff.

The one that hits sadly and, at the same time, just right is “It Won’t Seem Like Christmas (Without You).” It reminds me of good times and loving people.

We didn’t have tacky sweaters back then, but together, we created our own type of tacky Christmas cheer, which is something I try to recreate every year.

M. Scott Morris is a former editor of The South Alabamian. He’s an English teacher living in Tupelo, Mississippi.

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