My friend and I were talking about Christmas last month. He had explained to his girlfriend that that he had no Christmas spirit nor any desire to have one.
It isn’t that he hates Christmas or begrudges anyone who celebrates it – it was never a special time for him due to his chaotic childhood and shitty upbringing.
I told him I felt the same about Christmas. The last time I felt that Christmas spirit was before my parents divorced when I was 5 and my Dad disappeared.
Before that year, Christmas was a magical time. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, we made lists. We visited “Santa” for pictures. We listened to Christmas music. We decorated our tree and helped decorate the trees at my Grandparent’s and Aunt’s houses. We ate candy, visited with out of town relatives and tried to guess what was in the boxes that were wrapped under the tree.
When Christmas morning finally arrived, we’d wake up my parents and then race downstairs in our pajamas to unwrap our pile of presents under the tree.
Later, we’d get dressed and go visit my Aunt Es, Uncle Bob and my grandparents. They had presents for us under their trees too! A bunch of cousins, aunts and uncles would show up and we’d have a huge holiday dinner followed by games, cards, playing with our toys, hanging out with family and having a blast.
Those were some of the best times of my life.
After the divorce, everything changed. I already had serious doubts about Santa Claus and God. My parents getting divorced for the 2nd time sealed the deal for me. Not only was my father gone, my mother sold our house and uprooted us away from everything and everyone we loved to move far away to Pittsburgh.
I think we drove back to Tamaqua for our first Christmas after moving away. But the next Christmas we stayed in Pittsburgh in our cold, dark, shitty row house because my mother’s boyfriend (and future step-father) had moved in with us.
I remember getting a Round Table Knight In Armor as one gift I liked. I can’t remember any other gifts although I’m sure I got something else.
After opening our gifts, we went to my future step-father’s Dad’s apartment for Christmas dinner. They lived in the projects. I had never been to the projects before. It was like another world – filled with brick, concrete, graffiti, broken glass, apartments and people hanging out on the corners and smoking and drinking in the stairwells . Some of the people were scary.
We arrived around noon. As soon as we entered the apartment we met the Dad – he was drunk and loud and slurred his words. We met the Dad’s wife, she had no teeth and was also plastered. They were actually both very friendly and sweet. Dad pulled out a pistol from under the couch cushion to show off to us while other family members on the couch started yelling and tried to get it out of his hands since he was gesticulating wildly with it. Dad’s wife invited me into the kitchen to watch her make chitlins. They were this slimy, smelly glop she scooped out of a 5 gallon bucket. To this day, it’s the only food I have never been willing to try. Dinner was beef tongue plus a bunch of side dishes I had never had before. I remember eating pork rinds, corn bread and greens. It was delicious.
It was extremely hot and since the apartments in the projects couldn’t control their own thermostats, they had the windows open to let in the cold winter air. There were lots of other people in the apartment. Relatives, I suppose. I don’t remember any of them, but I imagine they were nice enough. After all, I was a pretty quiet and easy going kid.
It was an OK day, but nothing like what Christmas used to be like.
After that, it never got any better. Christmas meant a week off of school, a couple of presents, more time spent with my sister who hated me and a card in the mail from my Dad.
When I was a teen, Christmas was better because I go and hang out at my friend’s houses with their families. Normal families who did normal things like make dinner, watch movies, play cards and laugh a lot.
I’d join them on shopping trips to the mall and help them pick out presents. They’d treat me to pizza or McDonald’s. Sometimes we’d all go ice skating.
It wasn’t magical, but it felt good to be welcomed into a loving family – even if it was only for a few nights.
Today, Christmas means nothing to me.
It’s an annoyance and inconvenience, because it disrupts my routine.
Like my friend, I don’t hate it, but I don’t feel the Christmas spirit either.
I like to look at the lights in my neighborhood. I like hearing the music and smelling some of smells like pine trees, Christmas dinners cooking, and baking cookies. I like that people are generally a little more cheerful and smiley.
My mother had a Christmas dinner with my sister, her son and her boyfriend. My mother said it was wonderful.
Then she said, “We missed you there.”
Yeah right.
The last time I had Christmas dinner with my mother was nearly 20 years ago. The last time I spent it with my mother and sister was at least 30 years ago.
They didn’t miss me nor did I miss being there.
The Christmas I miss ended when I was 5.