Dear Friends, We're smug and we want you all to know why
By Beth Teitell
Thursday, December 23, 2004
As we all know by now, we're a nation divided: red state/blue state; low-cal/low-carb; Christmas-letter writer/Christmas-letter mocker, with the latter group being by far the larger and more smug of the two.
And yet, rather than our disdain, don't these annual reports - the fruitcakes of the correspondence world - deserve admiration?
Undaunted by public ridicule, they thrive, rising, Trump-like, again and again.
For example: When I got to work yesterday the features department was abuzz over just such a missive. ``You have got to see it,'' one of my colleagues said.
More cheerful than she'd been in weeks, she reconstructed from memory the letter's various atrocities - the near-obligatory boast about the wife's promotion, the preschooler's many extracurricular activities, the husband's new bike, etc.
``What do people think when they write something like that?'' she asked, almost giddy.
I was about to respond with some derisive remark along the lines of ``They don't think,'' when I shut my mouth: She who lives in a glass condo - and writes only ``much love'' on her holiday cards - should not throw stones.
Think what a service the letters provide, particularly in stressful holiday times. Even the boastful ones give a little lift - actually especially the boastful. Like Bernard Kerik, the worse the better. ``Richard was promoted (yet again), leading a proactive team of 30 now. Of course, a reserved parking space deserves a new car, so guess what's under the tree?'' The sensation of disgust is not without its pleasures, no?
In many families, making fun of other broods' letters is a beloved tradition.
When I told a few close friends that I'd switched sides on the holiday-letter issue, that I've come to admire people who take the time to update distant family and (alleged) friends on their lives, they looked at me like I was a stranger.
``That's so Middle America,'' one woman told me. ``Who are you?''
Needless to say, she doesn't write letters - unless they're sarcastic. After her taunt she e-mailed me a satirical letter:
``Timmy continues to grow and grow. Burt says it's like we have a horse, not a little boy, ha ha. My apple jelly just missed the first-place ribbon, but there's always next year!''
Hmmm. That's not bad. Maybe I'll switch a few details and use it next year when I start sending out my own letter.
I'll think of it as a present for my friends - and enemies.
