Weihnachtssozialismus (or The Redistribution of Lebkuchen to the Many)

Mia does her morning constitutional in anticipation of a full day of socialism.

In the afternoon of December 24, as coffee and cake were brought to the table, I was looking at Mia and wondering if she were left- or right-pawed. Then I realized my question was based on a false premise: she has four legs, not two; what if she favors the left front and right rear paws? Or what if being perfectly fourfold ambidextrous was a critical trait for survival in the streets of Delhi?

We all sat down and I shifted attention to the German language spoken around me. Conversation touched on a recent accident on the main street of Blasbach. Soon it drifted to happier topics, and I returned to my aimless reverie.

The merry banter auf Deutsche continued into the evening.

Socialist Dialectic

My German family’s love of communication bowls me over. They look each other in the eyes. They retell old stories and laugh. Everyone joins in as equals — including my daughters, just as they have nearly every Christmas since they were tiny. It’s completely, totally relaxed, and it goes on for hours.

I can’t keep up with the German and I often daydream rather than join in. Maybe it’s for the better, because I’d probably come out with inappropriate snark, getting quizzical looks in response. German humor is of a higher level.

My facetious sense of humor has been an asset elsewhere, albeit mainly among close friends, my sisters, and especially my father (on whose delightfully subversive shoulders I place full responsibility for said affliction.) And my daughters, back when whimsical contrariness was key to helping them make sense of the world.

It was also welcome among Russians in the former Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, who themselves were connoisseurs of the world’s finest snark, which they would serve up and throw down like shots of fine vodka. I wonder if their children are still masters of ironic humor, because there’s nothing funny about today’s Russia.

A New Socialist Movement

Which brings me to socialism. According to a 2018 Gallup poll, 23% of Americans understand socialism as referring to some form of equality, and 17% say it means government control of business and the economy.

30 years ago, Yours Truly would have insisted the concept is mostly BS, representing a convenient fiction purveyed by dictators, then abused by politicians around the world to gain and stay in power whilst ivy-bound professors lead their gullible students to believe it’s attainable.

Today I’m more understanding of the word’s benign usage by Western Europeans to describe the same philosophy that is behind our own Social Security, Medicare, and ACA. It says, basically, life’s a bitch so let’s get the easy stuff like paying for healthcare and growing old out of the way so we can focus on getting insanely rich.

You know, socialism.

I maintain, however, that as a result of its multitude of its conflicting interpretations, “socialism” has no meaning and should be relegated to the trash heap of political dialectic.

Or redefined. Which would offer a perfect chance to release ourselves from the lexical shackles of the past. For that to happen, we must first recast it in a mainstream publication — such as this blog with its seven esteemed subscribers worldwide.

So pay close attention, Merriam-Webster, to the below manifesto:

Socialists of the World, Unite in Discourse!

Christmas Eve here in Germany was a daylong event that reminded me of the best days of my childhood. My brother-in-law, his husband and their dog Socke arrived after breakfast, and conversation grew lively. Several hours of socialism followed, included recorder-playing, singing and 90 minutes of chatter while opening gifts (Christkind gave me everything I asked for!) All the while Mia and Socke worked the room on equal footing.

Work was never mentioned. Not once. Not a word of snark escaped the mouth of the American in-law. Nobody (except the Americans) stared at their smartphones.

There was no tense moment à la Hollywood sitcom when Uncle So-and-So rudely revived some old family resentment, ensuring half the family would stay away next year.

There was no awkward mention of the latest Berlin corruption scandal prompting everyone to look under the table at their watches.

And there was no sign whatsoever that there might be anything strange, or even unique, about extended family members converging from around the world to enjoy* the annual ritual of conversation over good food and gifts.

Instead, the day was delightfully socialist, giving credence to the quote inaptly — and I have to think intentionally — misattributed to the famously stern German philosopher and erstwhile “socialist” Karl Marx:

“Surround yourself with people who make you happy. People who make you laugh, who help you when you’re in need. People who genuinely care. They are the ones worth keeping in your life. Everyone else is just passing through.“

*Boosters and tests helped make this event a super spreader for glad tidings of die Freude.