This Generation and Christmas

What does Christmas mean to this younger generation? I have been thinking about that for a while now, and I don’t know if I am any closer to an answer. One of the great things about This Generation is that we are so diverse it is hard to pigeon-hole us into one corner on an issue. This also makes it difficult to write blogs about, but that is a whole nother story! Yet the question remains: What does Christmas mean to this younger generation?

I think to answer this question, I will just tell a story. This is the best I know how to explain who This Generation is and how we relate to Christmas.


John was a good friend of mine. He was just a normal twentysomethings guy who worked at a restaurant as he tried to finish school (he had dropped in and out of college a couple of times). He was passionate about photography, and not as passionate about being a waiter. That is why it was it is interesting that this story starts and ends with John at work.
It was a regular December evening as John was serving at the restaurant when he came in. His friends called him Skitz, but his only friend was his little dog Miligan that he kept at home. Once a week Skitz would come into the restaurant to eat by himself. John knew that he had a dog named Miligan because Skitz would always take home part of his rigatoni for “my best friend Miligan – that little pooch loves this stuff”. So the evening started out just like any other evening, and it was going to end just like any other evening, too – until something happened.
John was just taking out the trash to the back dumpster when he saw old man Skitz walking frantically up and down the streets and into the alleys. It looked like he was looking for something, desperately looking for something. John walked over to him. “Sir, are you okay?”. “I’ve lost my Miligan. My little Miligan. Mil…” Skitz voice trailed off as he went further into the alley and out onto the other side of the block. John thought about running after him for a second, but he had some homework that nite that he really should get started on. But he did hope that Skitz would find his dog.
The next week, John was kind of keeping his very photographic eye out for Skitz. He wanted to ask him if he had found Miligan, and he thought that maybe he would put some extra rigatoni into the doggy bag for all the trouble that the little guy (and the big guy) went through. But Skitz did not come. Skitz did not come all week. Or the next week, either.
Being a good guy, John was naturally kind of worried. So he went and talked to his boss about it. “Oh,” his boss started, “I thought you knew about that. That gentleman has a mental disorder. That dog, what did you say his name was? Miligan?, isn’t real. It’s all in his imagination. He’s schizophrenic – that’s why everyone calls him ‘Skitz’.” John chit-chatted with his boss for a few more minutes, but he could not get this image of poor Skitz out of his mind. He was still thinking about it as he was heading out to his car until something interrupted him. Bark! Bark! Whimper. Whimper. John looked over his shoulder back into the alley at the noise. It sounded like a dog…
It was! A little puppy with a dirty face was sitting in a cold box looking sadly up at John. “Shoooo,” thought John as he immediately realized what he had to do now, “there’s goes my Friday night…”
John scooped up the puppy and started walking. He did not know where Skitz lived, but he knew he had to find him. He searched high and low and all around downtown. He knew that Skitz walked everywhere, so he assumed he didn’t have a car. And if he didn’t have a car, then he would have to live somewhere close around here in order for him to walk to the restaurant.
Oh! The restaurant! Maybe he is there.
John turned around on a dime and quickly began walking towards the restaurant. He went in the back entrance and stood in the kitchen as he looked over the crowd. His disappointment was mounting with each scan of the restaurant until he finally saw him. There was Skitz, sitting all alone at his corner table, eating rigatoni.
John was relieved when he saw Skitz. Then, being a very fun-loving and photographic type of guy, he wanted to do something memorable to give the dog to Skitz. He wanted to do something that Skitz could always remember. So John waited back in the kitchen with the dog until Skitz was done with his meal. As always, Skitz asked for a doggy bag for Miligan – “If I can ever find him, he’ll be pretty hungry”. When the waiter went back to get the doggy bag, John caught him and told him the plan. They both thought it was great.
When they were ready, John walked out to Skitz’s table with the doggy bag in his hand. Skitz saw him coming and said, “Oh, good. Thank you. Miligan will enjoy this very much. Very much.”
“Actually, there is a slight problem with your leftovers, sir”. Skitz turned to John to see what was the problem. “You see,” smiled John as he put the bag down on the table, “it looks like little Miligan has already started enjoying it.”
Skitz gave John a quizzical look, but in the next second his attention was distracted by something moving on the table. A hint of a smile began to play on Skitz’s face as he watched the doggy bag begin to move around! Excitedly, he opened the bag. Out jumped the little puppy right into the waiting arms of Skitz! “Miligan! Miligan. My little Miligan! You came home! I knew you would. Miligan!...”
John didn’t quite know what to think. He just knew that Skitz was happy… and therefore my friend John was happy, too.

This is Our Generation.