As February 2nd approaches, and I watch my friends and family stress over making the perfect plans for Groundhog Day, I can’t help but sit back and watch in bewilderment.
Because you see, for me, every day is Groundhog Day.
Sure, I appreciate that modern society takes a day to stop and acknowledge the groundhog’s uncanny weather-predicting ability, but for a real marmotaphile like myself it seems a bit forced to signal my groundhog love on one single media-manufactured day per year. Because my love for groundhogs is deep and natural, the groundhogs in my life (Hi Gary! Hi Jordan!) don’t NEED a big display on Groundhog Day. They already know.
I guess some groundhogs look forward to the one day of the year when humans will be popping by their holes with news cameras. But I prefer to keep things spontaneous, so my groundhog friends are pleasantly surprised when I do something like leave a cup of coffee for them outside their hole, or buy them flowers (even if I got them at the grocery store).
Also it’s a bit rude to flaunt your Groundhog Day celebrations when others may have a different relationship to groundhogs than you. Maybe a groundhog bit them once. How do you think wearing your 6-foot groundhog suit and blowing your Groundhog Day noisemakers makes those people feel?
There are monetary benefits to not celebrating Groundhog Day too—you get to take advantage of the sales of groundhog food and outfits that pop up on February 3rd, as groundhog-themed stores get rid of their unused stock.
Of course, I still celebrate other groundhog-related days. Like the anniversary of the first day I kissed a groundhog. But that’s between me and Gary.
Frankly, it disgusts me how materialistic and consumer-driven Groundhog Day has become, when the original purpose of the holiday was to celebrate the love between humans and groundhogs. So go ahead, enjoy the hoopla and flashbulbs on February 2nd. Gary and I know what it is about Groundhog Day that truly matters.