I'm asking. Literally. Why?

I've never been someone who obsesses over Christmas. I've never enjoyed Christmas trees or the appeal of Black Friday deals. I find a lot of it to be consumerism disguised as "family bonding."

Every year, Christmas creeps further and further up the calendar, eating up the isles as soon as November 1st hits. I spend my birthday watching Christmas commercials and listening to holly jolly tunes as I surf the radio for something other than Christmas.

And now that Thanksgiving is over, the world has switched to green and red, children pointing to the most expensive gift, proclaiming that Santa doesn't love them unless their gift is better than what their friends get.

Now that I have my son, I'm no more excited for the holiday than two years ago. I don't find the need to tinsel and glitter every inch of my home or to put Santa's face on every inch of my walls.

People keep reminding me that "it will get more fun" as time goes on. The more my son believes, I feel, the more I'll understand the crushing heartache of him opening socks on Christmas morning. Watching his smile turn to a frown, because society isn't teaching children to be thankful — they're teaching them to crave bigger and better things that parents can't afford.