‘Tis the Beginning of the Season

Even before the last bits of turkey had been piled on slices of white bread and smothered in the final spoonfuls of gravy, city workers everywhere were busy stringing festive lights across our great nation. Christmas no longer waits for December 25th; it begins in November and doesn’t end until the last dried evergreen is dragged to the curb well after the New Year. People everywhere repeat the mantra “‘Tis the Season” because Christmas is so much bigger than one single day. In honor of the build up to the big occasion, I’m going to wax poetic about the holiday from now until January 1st. I’ve decided to begin with one of my favorite winter memories from college: the time I thought I was paralyzed.

December in Laurinburg, N.C. can be particularly cold, especially when juxtaposed with the ungodly heat and humidity of the summer. The winter of my freshman year stands out as one of the more frigid of my life, but not necessarily due to the actual temperature. It was no doubt chilly, but I didn’t have any of the warming elements of the season I was accustomed to while living at home. After class I couldn’t return to a toasty living room and enjoy hot chocolate, instead I spent those gray afternoons in a cold dorm room with cinderblock walls. The pine roping and poinsettia-lined hearth of my childhood was replaced by a desk from the 60’s and a thick stack of exam review materials.

The winter of ’98 was completely foreign to me. For the first time in my life, I was on my own and responsible for myself. Unfortunately, I’m sometimes irresponsible and that’s how I woke up one morning with the belief that I couldn’t move my legs. My philosophy was work hard during the week and play hard on the weekend. I rarely missed a class and always got good grades. In return, I participated in the most hallowed of college traditions: drinking. Aside from some questionable Sunday afternoon hangovers, life was good.

If I had a complaint, it was that the winters around campus were boring. Laurinburg isn’t exactly a booming metropolis. Couple that with the cold, overcast days and the only answer was drinking games. In fact, we had our own suite devoted to beer pong with malt liquor. One memorable evening, I consumed several 40’s and retired early. In the middle of the night I had to get up to use the bathroom. I entered the stall and leaned against the door. The combination of alcohol and standing up too fast caused me to pass out. I hit the floor next to the toilet and would later find out that I’d been asleep for an hour.

When I woke, I was disoriented to say the least. I tried to push myself up off the floor, but my legs wouldn’t move. I laid face down next to the toilet struggling with every ounce of strength when it occurred to me that I must be paralyzed. I screamed, “Help! Help!” as loud as I could, but no one could hear me. I decided that if I could just roll over I could pull myself out of the stall and maybe back to my room. That’s when I realized I wasn’t paralyzed, I was retarded. It seems that when I blacked out the stall door had closed over top of me, pinning my legs to the floor. So this Christmas season I urge you all to be safe. Whether it’s Colt 45 or Egg Nog drink responsibly and remember that if you wake up and can’t move it doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve handicapped yourself.