I'm not a Christian.
If anything, December 25th's the fifth day of Pancha Ganapati. Not much in our house - might be culturally Hindu, but I'm bloody lapsed when it comes to practising and No Religious Preference when it comes to the dogtag issue - but that's what the date evokes. No baby in a manger, no shepherds and wise men and angels and whatever else my daughter's school makes them dress up as (though I'm damn sure there weren't any dinosaurs in the original story, whatever she says), and no bloody celebrating the birth of someone who probably didn't exist and wasn't divine if he did.
Like I said, not a Christian.
Doesn't mean I'm not enjoying the rest of it, though. Not the tinsel and the decorating and the tree (gods know why we have to have one, but invariably I end up knocking the damn thing over because there's no room for it and the wheelchair in the same room), and certainly not the bloody carols (never mind the carol singers - should be illegal to inflict that much overcheerful out-of-tune 'goodwill' on people without their consent), but the idea of the thing in general.
Maybe I'm going soft. Maybe I'm just glad I actually get to spend the day with my family - not away, not dead, just finally back home and (almost) in one piece, and getting to wake up in the morning to my wife's kisses and my daughter jumping onto the foot of our bed to show us what she got in her stocking.
But... you know what? Happy Christmas.
(Treasure it, it's not something I'm likely to say again).