Here's a tragicomic essay I scribbled for today's Floridian feature, in which seven writers were asked to wax poetic about Christmas songs...

Growing up in a bitter tundra famous for its torrential blizzards and wicked ice storms -- that is, my parents' house circa 1982 -- I developed a strange preteen love for Mele Kalikimaka, that yuletide curio teaching us "Hawaii's way to say Merry Christmas to you."

I vividly recall squatting in front our toboggan-sized hi-fi and pubescently dropping the needle (scruuuch!) on Side 2 of Bing Crosby's 1955 mandatory masterpiece, Merry Christmas. Without fail, I'd catch the final few seconds of penultimate jig Christmas in Killarney ("with all of the folks at home") before the needle settled into the warm tiki groove of steel guitars, drum brushes and the Andrews Sisters.

Here we know that Christmas will be green and bright
The sun to shine by day and all the stars at night.

I'd listen again and again, lost in the vinyl crackle, oblivious to surrounding dysfunction.

Written in 1949 by Honolulu's R. Alex Anderson, Mele Kalikimaka was the ultimate anywhere-but-here holiditty, especially for a 12-year-old who wanted to be anywhere but Westford, Mass., surrounded by Ma and Pa Bickerson. Sure, that little town of Bethlehem sounded divine, but better than Bing's "land where palm trees sway"? Now that was a winter wonderland.

Myriad musicians have covered Mele Kalikimaka, including Bette Midler, Chris Isaak and, naturally, Jimmy Buffett. And almost all of them perform it with a wink and chuckle, as if the up-tempo song were mere kitsch.

That's a mistake. I was only a wee boy the first time I heard Crosby perform the song, but even I could tell that there was a subtle strain of malaise in the man's delivery. Bing didn't want to be wherever he was. He wanted to be in Hawaii, too. And really now, who could blame him?