Fleeing Purim

"I'm going to Miami for Purim," the lady said to her friend, a rolling suitcase in hand. "I just can't do it anymore." 

When one is little, one takes their childhood at face value. Add that concept to my high gullibility quotient, it was quite a shock when I first exposed to the Freak-Out-Over-Purim (FOOP). 

Via underconsideration.com

FOOP symptoms usually involve copious amounts of screaming. The screaming is very important. "Where's the matching aqua tissue paper for the 'Under the Sea' basket? I can't use red!"

This is how we spent every Purim: 

Ma would make a few mishloach manos. For the grandparents and her aunts and uncles, containing a fruit, a baked good, maybe a small bottle of grape juice.

I never gave to classmates. When I was little I didn't know kids could exchange. One year I gave to a morah only because she was so needy.

Early in the day, after we heard Ta lein the megillah, we'd pile into the car and head out to visit family. Purim was the one day a year that was devoted to great-aunts and -uncles; my siblings and I would sit quietly, munching on a néni's stale sponge cake (it was probably in the freezer since Simchas Torah), while Ma caught up with them in flying Hungarian. Then the money would dribble in, all for a peck on a wrinkled cheek.

We would come home in the dark of night, our front doorstep covered in mishloach manos. No, we did not go frantically over in the morning to give back. Motzei Purim runs straight into Pesach cleaning, and no one ever mentioned how they were unreciprocated. Why would they want one? Something else to throw out?

Conclusions: 

1) Everyone is happy to give mishloach manos. 

2) No one wants to receive them. 

If you don't give to every single neighbor or friend, no one will hold it against you. No one will shun your children if they don't give to every single classmate—kids, one may recall, have pretty limited memory. Overdosing on sugar the previous day helps.

It is also so wasteful since everyone just exchanges junk that will get tossed before Pesach anyway, as Doni Joszef vividly describes. 

There is always option B: Don't answer the door after giving out your requirement, which is two edible items to one person. Or, option C: Usually little kids are sent to the door in their parents' stead; they'll be ecstatic with a dollar or two in compensation for their messenger services.

Purim is yontif, and can be fulfilled quite well without an original poem tying in the pirate theme. Purim is supposed to be enjoyed, and not everyone enjoys the current state of affairs. 

Impressive, but not the necessary minimum.

Sure, there are a number amongst us who merrily compose hundreds of divine goody baskets and happily dress their offspring in perfectly matching costumes and pen a witty gramen all without a single raised voice. Ladies, I salute you. But you are, it must be acknowledged, a rare breed.

Children would rather have calm and collected parents on a holiday as opposed to FOOPed and frazzled ones. If we make yontif into a chore as opposed to a happy day, what will the next generation be taught? That even our celebrations are tedious?  

If you are dreading Purim, put your foot down. Do that which you can handle. It's okay. No one cares. If they do, then question their sanity, not your own. 

It's also much cheaper than flying to Miami.