Tim Minchin's Perspective on Christmas

“You’re such a Grinch!” I yelled after my husband, as he begrudgingly made his third trip down to the basement to haul up the last of our—I say our loosely, as my husband holds no claim to the “crap” I buy every year—Christmas decorations. His mumbles and grumbles echoed through the house as he stomped down and then back up the basement stairs, before dramatically dropping the final box of ornaments at my feet.

“That’s it! I’m done!” he said, as he turned and retreated to our lounge and the video game I had rudely interrupted.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the all-important task at hand—Christma-fying our house. It was December 1st. The official kickoff to the holiday season and the most wonderful time of the year. A month long celebration of love, the giving and receiving of gifts, brightly colored lights, traditional carols, stuffing your face with cookies and fattening food, and almost constant get-togethers with friends and family. It’s a magical time of year, one that I have cherished my entire life—largely due to my parents and the wonderful memories they created for me and my sisters.

For me, the season is never long enough. Every year, I have a list of activities and traditions that have been passed on from my parents. Largely Philadelphia traditions like going to the The Macy’s Light Show and Dickens’ Village, to very specific Steinmetz family traditions like driving up the Poconos to cut down a tree—something that has become a major event, with 12 of us driving to a very specific tree-farm in Jim Thorpe, to cut down one (yes one!) Christmas tree—then to the pretty standard like listening to the Christmas music round the clock, Cookie Day at my Mom’s, watching ALL the nostalgic holiday movies—with at least 3 viewings of A Muppet’s Christmas Carol—and meticulously decorating the all-important Christmas tree—I’m very OCD about the order my ornaments are hung on the tree. And when I started dating my husband four years ago, he was absorbed right into the Steinmetz Holiday-Cheer! In fact, my family’s Christmas Eve was his first taste of an all-American holiday.

But he thinks I’m absolutely nuts.

“It’s such a waste of time and money! What does stringing some lights and buying stupid ornaments do?” he says, year after year—especially the last three that we’ve lived together

“It makes me happy! Go be a Grinch somewhere else.” Calling him a Grinch has become my constant insult during the holiday season. And that insult stings him quite a bit. Because I know he loves Christmas; he tells me so every year. My husband, the natural-born cynic, who gawks at standard traditions and the ridiculousness of “doing things because you always have,” hates the pageantry and commercialization of the entire season. That somewhere in those traditions, the real joy of the holiday is lost.

But there’s one thing he makes me do every year: listen to his favorite Christmas song, White Wine in the Sun by Tim Minchin.

Does the title throw you off? Because it should, and did for me the first time I gave it a listen.

Below is a live performance:

Please try and see past the overall appearance of Tim Minchin—he’s a comedian.

If you know my husband, it’s easy to see why he loves this song. He probably could’ve written it, as the lyrics speak directly to his personality: the jokester cynic, who doesn’t buy into the religious or consumer aspect of the season. For Tim Minchin, the holidays are simply about seeing family, reconnecting and making up for lost time. And my husband couldn’t agree more. Christmas had always been spent driving from one part of the UK to the other, to see each member of his scattered family. The hours spent on the road didn’t matter to him as long as a smiling face and a cup of tea greeted him upon arrival. But living in America has made that tradition nearly impossible. Only once in the last four years has he been able to fly home for the holidays and you obviously can’t hug your niece over Skype. Sure, my family has welcomed him in with open arms but it’s not the same.

And I know he goes along with my holiday cheer with a plastered smile and a quick joke, but deep down the homesickness he feels year round is only intensified at Christmas, and is the true reason behind much of his Grinch-ness. With my family all within a car ride, I’ve never been able to truly relate to these feelings. Until this year, when we listened to the song for the first time in the car. The reality of the last verse hit us both pretty hard:

And you, my baby girl
My jetlagged infant daughter
You'll be handed round the room
Like a puppy at a primary school
And you won't understand
But you will learn someday
That wherever you are and whatever you face
These are the people who'll make you feel safe in this world
My sweet blue-eyed girl

And if my baby girl
When you're twenty-one or thirty-one
And Christmas comes around
And you find yourself nine thousand miles from home
You'll know what ever comes

Your brothers and sisters and me and your mum
Will be waiting for you in the sun.

From the driver’s seat, I looked over at him. His eyes were glistening and the tears were ready to fall. In that moment, I understood why and had to choke back my own tears. I took his hand and laid it on my stomach, on the unborn child within who would rarely get to spend Christmas with their entire family. Who would one day know the homesickness their Daddy—or Mommy—felt every Christmas. Silently, we both promised to pass the message of the song down to our child; that distance doesn’t diminish love or closeness. That no matter where you are, love and family will always hold you close. Especially at Christmas.

So this year, I learned a little lesson from Tim Minchin about the Grinch. And now White Wine in the Sun is my favorite Christmas song.