My Most Important Holidays, In Order

When I was a kid, there were eleven basic holidays. By basic, I mean that somebody had the day off, sometimes us, sometimes Dad. Or there were presents. Or we had a special dinner. Or there was a parade. Or there was candy. Here they were, all lined up: New Year’s Day, Lincoln’s Birthday, Washington’s Birthday, Easter, Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, Columbus Day, Veterans Day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas Day. Obviously, America has changed since the 1950s, and the presidents’ birthdays have been combined, while Martin Luther King, Jr.’s Birthday has come along, as has Earth Day and Black Friday. Columbus Day will soon disappear or morph into Indigenous Peoples Day. Other celebratory days were potentially in the running as important, although they lacked time off. Halloween, Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, and even Arbor Day were all noted in school, with our grade school classroom transformed by decorations for the occasion. On Long Island, we also recognized Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Passover, and Hanukkah, since lots of kids were Jewish, and they usually got to leave school early. Of course, we got the afternoon for Good Friday.

The most important holidays to me back then were Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter, in that order. If I added a fourth, it would be Halloween. The reason is simple: we got stuff. Presents, turkey dinner, and candy, in that order. The fact that we often saw relatives on those days too was okay, but less important, unless, of course, they also had one of the three important ingredients. Clearly, this marks me as a greedy, self-centered child. Turkey leg in one hand, Easter basket in the other, trying to tear the wrapping off Christmas gifts. That’s me in the corner.

So, I recently asked myself, what are my most important holidays now that I’m in my sixties and retired? It’s a different list: Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Labor Day. How did that happen? The clear answer is changing priorities. I no longer care so much about my old favorites, since presents are not nearly so exciting as they once were, I dare not overeat, and candy doesn’t appeal the way it used to. On top of that, so many relatives are gone, or widely dispersed, that get togethers don’t get, except for dinners with my wife’s family, who live nearby. And the reason I like the holidays I like now is quite different from most people’s reasons. While I have a sense of patriotism, I don’t go to the parades or shoot off fireworks, and while celebrating labor is a good thing, I generally pass. What is the common denominator here? Flea markets. 

Depending on where one lives, flea markets run at various times of the year, but in Ohio, the season officially begins on Memorial Day, and ends on Labor Day. These are huge flea market days, along with the 4th of July, and include not just the day, but the whole weekend. I have become quite attached to flea markets. This affection started during a period of unemployment, when we needed to make some money, but I wasn’t bringing anything in. My wife’s father sometimes went with his buddy, Bud, to a large flea market, and we had the bright idea that I could sell things too. I had books, comics, record albums, unwanted wedding gifts, extra stuff we didn’t need, and my father-in-laws tools that he didn’t use anymore. I sold things at various flea markets until I found a job, and then continued intermittently for years, for as long as I had a truck to haul stuff. After the truck died, I slowed down. After all, a Subaru wagon doesn’t hold as much. But when I wasn’t selling, I was going to look around. I am a collector of things, and flea markets are a fine place to indulge in the search for cheap and fascinating items. My own obsessions have changed over time, but have included old sheet music, photo cabinet cards, books, and music CDs. Small items that only take up a lot of room when you own them in large quantities. Which I have done. 

I should slow down on the acquisition of things. Eventually, we will have to downsize, and my carefully constructed collections will need to be disbursed in some fashion. But the flea markets are all around me, beckoning. Sometimes I don’t buy much, but just use the opportunity for exercise. Walking every aisle of a large outdoor flea market is certainly a workout, and on that basis alone, I should go every day I can. There are lots of older folks out there, and I fit right in.