The hidden meaning of Christmas carols

Well kiddies, Thanksgiving's over. And you know what that means: All Christmas, All The Time.

Christmas takes over American mall courtyards even before the last jack-o'-lantern is thrown out. But the real affront arrives the day after Thanksgiving — not inappropriately known as Black Friday — when Christmas music takes over the airwaves. As of Nov. 25, at least 144 radio stations nationwide were playing an all "holiday music" format, according to 100000watts.com, a U.S. radio and TV directory. And while 2,100 Christmas albums have already scanned at least one sale, as reported by Nielsen Soundscan, it seems like every radio station plays the same 10 "Now That's What I Call Christmas!" songs ad nauseam.

Now, the fact that I'm Jewish probably heightens the irritancy of these songs, though Jewish victims of Christmas carol radio are supposedly recompensed with an occasional airing of Adam Sandler's "Chanukah Song." (Still, that song's not so much a seasonal classic as an opportunity for goyim to Not Get It; e.g., in high school, when a lunch mate discovered I was Jewish, he said, "Wow, Cathy, you're Jewish? You must really like that Adam Sandler song!" This was followed by a long, awkward, squinty-eyed pause.)

But while the "Chanukah Song" may have worked its way into a handful of mainstream "holiday music" radio stations, it still stands for Jewishness, whereas Christmas songs stand for all things American. Christmas is, after all, one of 11 federal holidays, alongside Labor Day and the Fourth of July. And since we know the federal government would never violate the separation of church and state — except when there's a really, really good reason, like a persistent vegetative state, or Communists — there clearly must be secular, non-Christian values inherent in the official holiday celebrations.

With Christmas carols being banned from many public schools and Christmas trees becoming newly euphemized as "holiday trees," Christmas as a national event may be endangered. Always one to stick up for my country, right or wrong, and my university, right or left, I've resolved to figure out the secular value of Christmas songs to me as an American and, perhaps more importantly, as a Princetonian, since Princeton life is modeled to produce nation-serving citizens.

And so I ask: What (secular) morals can be extracted from these Christmas songs and applied to our Princetonian lives?

Let us first consider the ballad of that schnoz with sheen, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." The other reindeer laughed at him; they chucked nasty epithets his way; they even excluded him from their favorite pastimes (like Monopoly!). Then there's some "climate change" and, badabing-badaboom, he's a hero.

Delving a bit deeper, we see lessons for Princeton life in Rudy's story. An individual with a deformity becomes the outcast — the victim of social conformity. Only after he has been approved and applauded by the reindeer's chief authority do the Noel laureate's peers befriend him, becoming, well, ill-weather friends (sorry). The Princetonian moral? Make connections now because you never know who will be powerful someday. For example, don't poke fun at Ivy Club members, because one of their parents might work at a company to which you're applying for a summer internship. Hypothetically.

Our second consideration is the yuletide yowl, "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town." From this song, we realize paranoia begets conscience. "He sees you when you're sleeping/He knows when you're awake/He knows if you've been bad or good/So be good for goodness sake." The song teaches that morality is important only so long as you believe someone is watching. In other words, screw the Honor Code.

Our final subject is "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas." This song carries important counsel for Princetonians struggling to reconcile their hopes and dreams of changing the world, professed years ago in their college apps, with the allures of the UBS info session. The agapeistic anthem, famously written by a Russian Jew (Irving Berlin, nee Israel Baline), teaches diligent Princetonians to stay true to your roots and don't try to be something you're not. Unless, of course, that something has the potential to make you really, really successful. Catherine Rampell is an anthropology major from Palm Beach, Fla. She can be reached at crampell@princeton.edu.