Ever wonder what that’s like? Wonder no more!
A Sarah Jost Christmas
For the Josts, the time before Christmas is consumed by a very long, tedious, and absolutely delicious task: cookie baking. When I was a youngin’, pretty much my sole contribution to our dozen recipe (read: nearly 500 cookies) bake-a-thon was chopping the nuts and sprinkling decorative sugar. Thanks to hard work and dedication, and also because my mum got tired of it, I have been promoted to Head Mixer of Doughs, which is obviously the best job because you get to ‘taste test’ (read: sneakily gobble) quite a bit of dough. We have had our challenges with the bake-a-thon over time, from broken ovens to attempts at veganising old family recipes, but have overcome each obstacle with the fiery tenacity only possessed by those obsessed with eating sweets. In true Hungarian tradition, our Christmas festivities officially take place on Christmas Eve, when my mum, Aunt, and I decorate the tree, eat dinner, and open presents. Then, my mum, pup, and I have a Christmas slumber party under the tree. I can’t wait!
A Geo Ong Christmas
To my extended family and me, Christmas only means one thing: the Laker game. There are some other stuff, like togetherness and food, but really it’s all about the 2.5 hours on Christmas Day when what seems like 1,000 Filipinos gather in front of a single television to whoop and holler obscenities in various Filipino accents. This year’s match-up against Miami will be especially heated. Oh, and there’s also a White Elephant tradition between my 500 cousins and me, which is really fun. I look forward to sitting back, having just eaten about 90 of my mum’s vegetable lumpia, watching my cousin’s faces as they open up their mystery presents, and thinking to myself, ‘I hope Kobe’s hand is feeling better.’
A Margaret Hedderman Christmas
As a small child, I was greatly concerned about Santa’s health. Come on, dude’s flying around the world eating all manner of cookies at every stop. Who knows what kind of partially hydrogenated oils he’s eating all night. I was a caring child. I cared about Santa’s health; thus his longevity… thus the number of years he’d be able to continue delivering me presents. Despite my parents owning a bakery, I refused to leave Santa cookies. Instead, I left chopped carrots, celery and cheese. Someone’s got to look out for the Old Man… especially if someone wants a llama for Christmas.
