It’s a strange time of year to be of my ilk in America. The houses are mostly decked with lights, although I live in that rare North Texas neighborhood of refreshing ethnic diversity where the smells of wonderful cooking waft through the air to mark myriad holidays that our Christian brethren don’t celebrate. The trees appear covered in tinsel and ornaments in the shopping malls, the school classrooms, and the corporate lobbies. The music is relentless and oppressive. Opposing signs admonish me to not forget the religious aspects of the season, while a large man who curates a white beard year round charges $20 for a picture of small children sitting on his groin. It is Christmas, the time of year when many of you celebrate, while the rest of us decide to what extent we are going to lie to our children.