I suffer with DFFS and there is no cure.

The holidays. Depressing. I’ve wondered why for years, why when everyone else seems to be filled with Christmas cheer, I want to hide under a blanket and come out in January. Late January. Maybe Martin Luther King, Jr. weekend. Or Groundhog Day, that seems appropriate. I have to get ready for Easter at some point. Anyway, I figured it out today.

I suffer from DFFS. Don’t bother looking that up on WebMD. Actually, as a side note, my doctor said never, ever, ever, look up anything on WebMD. It’s a bad site for a hypochondriac. DFFS is Disappointing Family and Friends Syndrome. It’s debilitating. As a kid I was concerned with how my parents would feel when I reacted to the gifts they gave. I knew they (Mom) cared deeply and wanted to buy the perfect gifts for each of us. She saved money from my Pop’s meager salary to make sure Christmas was special and as the oldest kid I felt responsible to respond correctly.

When I got older and started buying gifts for my siblings and parents, I carried a burden to buy presents that would bring a glimmer of joy into the lives of those I blessed, maybe a glistening tear in the corner of each eye as they unwrapped the present I had overspent on. Didn’t happen often. I let people down. Same with girlfriends. Who buys a girl a $300 star sapphire ring from Zales on a payment plan when you’re fourteen years old and working at Baskin-Robbins? Me. Dumb me. She loved the ring, I’m sure, but she broke up with me before New Years Eve. Probably scared the love right out of her.

Then a wife and kids. Talk about the pressure to not disappoint. I gotta tell you, my family has always been gracious and appreciative of every single gift, it’s not their issue. Regardless, I was disappointed that I couldn’t do more, be more, say more, decorate more, be more insightful, or make the perfect egg nog. I gave up buying gifts for friends. I figure if they are going to be disappointed no matter what, no gift is at least more cost-effective.

And then there is work. Church work. “Ministry” they call it, although rarely does much of what you do in church work constitute “ministry.” The pressure to do a Christmas concert. The expectations of the perfect candlelit Christmas eve service. The desire to sing the same old songs we sing every year, but in a new and fresh way or in an old and traditional way. Some people love Christmas trees, others think they are a pagan symbol of the winter solstice. And don’t even talk about Santa. Honestly, you know that whatever you do, some people are going to be disappointed. It’s depressing.

I know this isn’t curable. I know it’s not anyone’s fault. You don’t catch DFFS from other people when they forget to cough in the crook of their arm. It is genetic. Sorry kids.

Time to self-medicate. Where are those plain old Christmas cookies?

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