I am now publicly declaring my favorite holiday to be Groundhog Day. Yes, Feb. 2, that mystical day when animals and creatures of every conceivable kind awaken from their winters slumber and check things out. If they see their shadow, for some reason, they sense that winter is not over and they slither back into their hollow and go back to sleep. The most recognized of these forecasters is, of course, the beloved groundhog to which this day has been set aside to honor. Many of my family and friends are greatly troubled by my love of Groundhog Day, so I am using these respected air waves to explain myself. After all, didn’t Dr. Philip O’Hanlon tell his daughter Virginia that if she read it in The Sun that it must be true? And hasn’t that article, “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus” been read over and over again since 1897? Well then, my hope is that you may hear this proclamation as well. The reason Groundhog Day is my favorite holiday is because you don’t have to do anything. That’s right; you don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to unpack boxes of decorations. You don’t have to send cards. You don’t have to wish anybody anything. You don’t have to spend weeks cooking, going to parties and spending money that you don’t have for presents that people won’t like, and there will be nothing to return the next day. Family members aren’t worried about who gets which bedroom, and will there be enough beds if everybody shows up. The economy of the world will not soar or decline based on what happens the weeks prior to that day, and until this year you havent had to sit for hours watching two opposing groups of men fight about the remains of the first cousin once removed of the groundhog — it might take a minute to figure that out, but, ladies, it is called a “pig skin.” I think Super Bowl should get its own Sunday but that is just me. I don’t have any particularly favorite memories of a special Groundhog Day to share with grandchildren. Nothing teary eyed has ever been written about that day. No one has traveled in a sleigh with bells or through woods to get home for that day, and to my knowledge, no one has ever fought about the right to have the day. I just enjoy this holiday as it comes along; and because of my cynical view most years, I am left alone, and that’s not so bad. Now here’s the deal: I love Thanksgiving, and I quite enjoy Christmas, but Groundhog Day is my day. It is a time for me. A time to reflect on who I am, and if that makes me contemptuous, please let me explain. Like Bill Murray, in the movie by the same name, I can challenge the not-so-good things about myself and hopefully embrace what is good. I have even bought a recording of “I’ve Got You Babe,” by Sonny and Cher, so that I can wake up as if to start life all over again. It’s like I have that day to see who I really am. To see how I have hurt others without realizing it or what I have said that might be offensive or how my actions have overlooked the needs of those around me and maybe, by the next day when the radio plays a different song, and the snow has cleared away, I can walk hand in hand with my sweet heart toward the rest of my life and all of it’s other holidays. Maybe that one day of “me time” will help me to love, and care, and listen more. Maybe I can be a little less self-centered and overlook my own shadow to see the faces of those around me. I don’t know. But if you see me on that day, please don’t wish me anything. Jeff Messer
Posted on: Sun, 02 Feb 2014 18:44:54 +0000
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