Why oh why did we let the kids sleep in so late this morning? So they could go to bed late tonight, wild with excitement and new ideas for welcoming Santa. Cookies. Milk. Carrots for reindeer. Candles. Excuses, really, but sweet and utterly well-intentioned.

Meanwhile I’ve got the traditional big dad-must-assemble where Tab A in Slot B has no innuendo-iotic signifier other than “where are the dang pliers?”

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I used to think that Christmas was for gifts, for when this promise or that was made, a Nicean hijacking of pagan Saturnalia, an orgy of commercial excess, a stressful pretend-to-be-merry occasion, a reason for too-long car trips in too-crowded cars, a time to be lonely when alone and away from home for the first time, an excuse for sanctimonious and pseudo-sanctified savages to yap and yawp about the everlasting lives promised for those who toed their particular line.

Then I read a stunning essay by Hannah Arendt — once Heidegger’s student and lover, once a concentration camp escapee, a philosopher, a Hellephile, a life-long athiest — who spoke of this guy from Nazereth who introduced the idea of forgiveness into political, legal, and philosophical discourse. Arendt, who forgave her former teacher and lover for becoming a Nazi, pointed out several problems with forgiveness but said all in all it was a pretty good idea. Whatever else he may or may not have done, whatever he was or wasn’t, whatever else he may mean, in retrospect that was a pretty big deal.

I believe pretty strongly in tolerance. In a world full of imperfect understanding I think it’s pretty hard to have tolerance without forgiveness. It makes all the difference in this world, whatever else it may mean in the next. So happy birthday, big guy. Thanks for the good idea.

For that reason if no other I’d like to wish each of you a particularly merry Christmas, from the bottom of my heart.