Last week, while surfing the net for Christmas presents (and paying homage to Amazon.com) I breathed a sigh that was both relieved and wistful. Armchair shopping is certainly convenient, but it does have a sense of sterility. Something about the hustle and bustle of Main Street crowds decades ago certainly lent more of an air of the festive to the entire process. How does one recapture the Christmas spirit while viewing megabytes of images on a computer monitor? In my childhood, the Christmas spirit was a nebulous entity that came to visit some moment between the televised specials of Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and Christmas Mass at the Vatican. My mother always contracted it first, happily announcing, “I’ve got the Christmas spirit!” as though she’d won a trip to Hawaii.

   I used to despair over my inability to muster the same sort of enthusiasm as early in the season as she managed. I recall that I once actually prayed for the Christmas spirit (it must be my Baptist background, this praying for the spirit). But shopping on Main Street in North Wilkesboro on a December Friday night was fraught with enough festivity to move even the most recalcitrant. Large lighted wreaths of red and green were strung across the street. ALL stores were open and overflowing with shoppers. Manned with lists and sizes, my mother and I marched in and out of every store.

   I believe that I knew more about the world than the average 10-year-old in 1970 -ecology, Vietnam, Richard Nixon, and comparative religion were regular topics at our dinner table (which made it difficult for me to get in a word edgewise about the Osmonds or David Cassidy). I was also fairly knowledgeable about men’s clothing. With three brothers and assorted cousins and uncles, I knew the meaning of 15 ½-33, 9 ¼, 8D, and 34 Regular. I learned to mimic my mother’s enthusiasm as she shopped for all the men on her list and I could be equally gleeful about Totes, hot combs and electric hair trimmers - all the latest gizmos for Christmas. My mother was quite a serious Christmas shopper - most especially about any item that could be a stocking stuffer. Indeed, our stockings were invariably more interesting than any wrapped package beneath the tree.

   She’d start looking for these items in late fall and hide them in her dresser drawers. Not a year passed that she didn’t misplace an item or two, only to discover them about Easter. My mother planned a lot because in the sixties and seventies, Christmas wasn’t marketed to the extent it is now and shopping required more thought and creativity. You weren’t bombarded with stackouts and peghook items and a bizillion circulars suggesting what you needed to buy for Christmas. There’s just something a little defeating about ordering online and seeing the blurb “Customers who ordered this item also ordered _____.” No thought required - let us do your thinking for you. Christmas devoid of soul.

In Dickens' A Christmas Carol, Ebenezer Scrooge is visited by three spirits who finally enable him to capture the Christmas spirit: the true meaning that had escaped a man so completely engulfed by contemporary society’s yardstick of success. I understand this as I hear Scrooge every day in the retail environment in which I work.. It is, I suppose, a Scrooge of necessity as we focus on getting the right product at the right price to the right places. I well remember, however, when one of my co-workers once remarked that Christmas was his favorite holiday… until he got into retail sales!

But I still see it as a magical time: Buying that last box of 8D Totes, the Mrs. Beasley doll you didn’t expect or the Beatles White Album that Mom said was just too much money for rock and roll - all things that just cannot be captured or savored on line. As we slide into the final days before the millennium, my children are among many that only understand the Christmas verse “City sidewalks, busy sidewalks” because they’ve seen “A Miracle on 34th Street.” They giggle about their old-fashioned Mom who waxes nostalgic at the slightest provocation. But like Ebenezer at the end of the story, I’ve got the Christmas spirit…. and I even like fruit cake! So….Merry Christmas…..@y’all.com!

   Early last week I went by the location of the new day spa on Main Street in North Wilkesboro. Day spa? Yes my friends, we now have a day spa right here in River City-it is called the J. Madison Concept Day Spa, and it is located above Palmer & Company Hairstylist (where Cynthia Linville still cuts my hair about every sixth Saturday). I was there to talk to the owners, Joe and Janice Ward, about the open house they had planned for Friday the 10th. It was during the ensuing conversation that I remarked I had never been to a spa in my many years on this earth. With that obvious hint, what could they do but ask me to come by Friday evening when the entire staff would be on hand to explain the various services available, and of course, they would have lots of good food. Janice then asked if I was just kidding or had I really never been to a spa before. I reminded her that I was brought up on Hinshaw Street in the 50’s-a neighborhood so tough that a cat with a tail was a tourist, the school newspaper at North Wilkesboro Elementary had an obituary column, and spas were for girls. After the “spas are for girls” comment, they told me I was not going to be just a guest at their open house, but also a guinea pig-to receive a “facial”.

   Me. Kenny. One of the Great Unwashed would be coming in for a facial cleansing, purifying mask, facial massage, and (dare I say it in a family newspaper) a biopeel exfoliation. Once again, I had let my talking overload my rear end. How would I ever “face” Boody Billings and Roger Hayes when I see them at the Santa Fe Restaurant? I told everyone at The Record about my plans. The response was split by gender-the ladies said I would love it, the men thought I was crazy. I really didn’t know what to expect, but was kind of looking forward to the new experience. After all, I’m now at an age when you’re willing to take any help you can get.

   Friday evening came. For Joe and Janice, I of course hoped for a good turnout. They and their staff had worked hard for weeks leading up to the open house and opening of their new day spa. My fears of a slow night were quickly allayed. As I mentioned earlier, their day spa is located above Palmer & Company, just across from Town Hall. I arrived early so I could get a good parking spot, but ended up way down Main Street, a pretty good walk for a man with a box of printing. When I walked through the door, there was Janice Ward, dressed to the nines, greeting everyone as they came in. I thought she might have even forgotten I was coming, but as I walked in, she announced: “Here’s my guinea pig.” There was no backing out now.

   The food was great, and there was plenty of it. The turnout was good and everyone seemed to have a great time. Diane Eldridge was there (the world’s busiest retired lady) and I got to catch up on Taylor, Ryan, and of course my buddy Jerry. I saw John and Freida Matthews; John seeming right at home as he read over the brochure and commented on what seemed best to him (Freida explaining what he was reading). The Stone twins were also there, Melanie Foster and Angela Bond; checking out the “skin scan” machine, but already looking about as pretty as is legally allowed. I even had a great visit with my newest niece Vicki Combs-her mom is Shirley Welborn (for years Shirley Johnson in the county tax office), now married to my oldest brother, Carley.

As I wandered back and forth from the food line, I was also reminded of a mistake I made at a gathering a few weeks ago. At the reunion of the Wilkes Central Class of ’63, I had mistaken Martha Myers for Bill Myers daughter. Well, here they were at the day spa’s open house! Martha seemed very happy to see me, while Bill was a bit reserved. Okay, a lot reserved. I just want to take this opportunity to make it right, to apologize openly. Bill, I’m sorry Martha looks that much younger than you. There. Never let it be said I’m not man enough to admit an error. There were all kinds of activities going on. Joel Dills doing a chair massage, Tim Helgeson doing reflexology-a foot massage that includes other reflex points, Rebecca Church demonstrating various facials, and others doing demonstrations about which I was clueless.

Then it was my turn. My first facial, professional or otherwise. I went to the room where Rebecca Church was waiting. The lights were low, vanilla candles burning; it was relaxing from the start. Rebecca pointed out that things would be much quieter and even more relaxing during a regular visit. I took off my shirt and lay down on a contoured table. Everything was done slowly and quietly, all part of relaxing, I suppose. It worked. She first rubbed in a cleanser as she massaged my face. While the cleanser was working, she rubbed my neck and shoulders, remarking that there was a lot of tightness there, indicating tension. I explained that I had guns to my head every day, so to speak, and tension just follows. As she worked on me, Rebecca explained each step. The questions I, or the folks coming in and out, asked were answered in detail, but she was kind enough to use language we could understand. I was impressed with her knowledge and training.

Next, hot towels to remove the facial cleanser. Talk about relaxing-as I lay there, I thought about just dozing off. Then I heard some guy in the hall make a crack about an autopsy going on in there and it got me back to the real world. Now, the biopeel exfoliation. A common treatment, I now understand, for rough skin-and I qualified for that. Rebecca massaged in the paste, all the while a steam machine was putting moisture into the air around me. After a while, more hot towels, the peel removed, and I was finished. I can honestly say I would have been glad for Rebecca to have just started over, but before I could even sit up, Tim Foster had taken off his shirt, waiting to be next. It was really a unique experience. I felt at home, comfortable and pampered. I liked that. To my friends at the J. Madison Concept Day Spa, I say thank you for a great evening. To my buddies from up on Hinshaw Street, I must confess: I could really get used to living like this!

   Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer was an outcast. He was different, so as a result, he was ostracized. The other “normal” reindeer didn’t see his difference as special or unique, but as something to laugh at and make fun of. But then one foggy Christmas day, Santa needed Rudolph. After years of torment, Rudolph could have been bitter. He could have told Santa to use his own fat nose and get himself out of the fog storm. He didn’t though. He came through. He did the right thing. And then all the reindeer loved him. Only then did they let Rudolph play all the little reindeer games. Sure, Rudolph went down in history, but was it worth it? Did Rudolph ever really realize that the only reason Santa or the other reindeer liked him was because he could do something for them? Was it worth all those years of pain? Or would have Rudolph have been better off without all his little reindeer friends?

   Rudolph’s celebrated journey into popularity is not an uncommon one. In fact, I think every child goes through it in one form or another. The kid who smells funny is picked on all his life until he does something heroic or “cool” or throws enough money at the situation that all the other kids decide that maybe he’s okay after all. Still, though, in the back of these kids’ minds, this guy is the one who smells, and if he steps out of place, just once, he goes from being a human being back to that tortured smelly boy. It’s a sad cycle that many justify as a rite of passage. It may be, but to that smelly kid, it’s much more. Kids can be cruel. If they think something, they say it. Tact, evidently isn’t a skill that’s being taught at home. Do you ever really forget that you were the smelly kid? The wounds heal, but do the scars fade away? I don’t think so. It’s easier to laugh when you’re older and more detached from the situation, but sometimes when looking in the mirror, I think perhaps, the little smelly kid appears again along with all the little smelly feelings and little smelly tears. I don’t think the smelly kid ever forgets. I used to live under the illusion that there was a universal love and understanding that existed within the human race for all living things. I used to think that everything and everyone was respected simply because they possessed life. The degree to which I was wrong is all but untouchable. I existed under a thick veil of youth and naivete. It wasn’t until I was a sophomore in high school that I realized that some people are just plain mean.

   High school is the perfect example. One is supposed to leave educated and prepared to live in the real world. What really happens is that the students are given a demented perspective of how to interact socially. High school distorts young minds into thinking that there should be barriers between people and that it’s okay to reject those with imperfections. And without knowing it, we begin a cycle of separation. We gather a circle of friends and hold on tight. Few are allowed to move in and out, and many are ignored or picked out to endure the abuse. And so we get the outcasts, the reindeer with red noses, and the smelly kids who grow up wondering what they ever did to deserve all the torment.

From what I can tell, a lot of this carries over into adulthood. But, did it start in childhood? Did our parents subconsciously tell us that this is okay or even the right thing? When you came home laughing at the smelly kid, did your parents attempt to show you the inhumanity in your laughter, or did they laugh with you? Sure they taught you to tie your shoes and to chew with your mouth closed, but did they take time to teach you love and respect for your fellow man? Do you make others feel badly about their flaws, or do you accept them and respect them simply because they are human, or reindeer, or smelly…