Hey, Y’all! Sorry I never wrote that post I promised. I wrote one but I felt it was too dark and too deep to get into at the moment. I decided to save it and break it down into a series. I wrote it while I was drowning in anger. Not the kind of writing I was proud of. I hope you understand. I want to pick backup where I left off in July. If you want to catch up and fill in gaps, my updated Facebook has all the pieces. (The new link should be at the bottom and the About page.) So here I sit, in this holiday season, reminiscing and contemplating the past with a new set of open eyes. This time of year has always held a mixed bag of emotions for me. Joy, excitement, dread, humbleness, gratitude. Let’s take a walk through some memories and into some impactful moments for me.
Where to start? There are two Christmas memories that play in my mind every year. The first is from early 1980’s. I think the presents under the tree were piled so high they held the tree up. Maybe those are the exaggerated memories of a happy child. Yet, of all the gifts, the one that made me happiest, the one I wanted more than anything, was Dancerella ballerina doll. I wanted to be a ballerina. All graceful, letting the music move my body, the ruffles and lace swirling. We had ugly shag carpet, so the only place I could play with her Christmas Day was behind the front door. Nina was in the kitchen talking with my uncle and aunt. I heard her tell them how spoiled I was. Just look at all the presents Dad and Billy and Leve got me. I think that was a key moment for me. I don’t know why it stuck with me. I always questioned myself after that, “Was I spoiled?” I didn’t feel spoiled. I felt loved. On the one hand, you’re told to make a list for Santa, so you do. I’m maybe eight. Of course I’m going to add all the stuff I want. On the flip side, I don’t believe I will get everything, because I get reminded of how bad I am, and that Santa doesn’t bring naughty little girls nice gifts. Eventually, I would become so “humble” that I wouldn’t ask for anything. That Christmas though, I don’t remember what else I got. Just the ballerina doll. I don’t remember Nina ever saying what she bought me or picked out for me. It was always Dad wanted me to get you this or that or Billy and Leve got all these. Now at almost 50, if loved ones get me something for any occasion, I will open it alone, in my closet if I have to, so no one can see me cry and smile, thankful that someone thought of me. The other memory that I have of Christmas is when I was 15, I think. I asked if I could get a 10-speed. I was getting too big for the bike I had. I circled a purple Huffy one in a Toys-R-Us Christmas flyer. I wasn’t expecting anything for Christmas. The Holiday had gotten “sparse” since Little Ann was born. And that’s a story for another post. Safe to say, she’s a second cousin. After she was born, I stopped getting a new dress for Christmas, but Ann got one. She’s not even my sister. I was jealous, no sense in lying. So, my expectations dropped. That Christmas, other than a few small things from Billy and Leve, that 10-speed was under the tree. I cried. And Nina never let me live it down. Dad made her call every Toys-R-Us in Houston till she found one. Then Dad made her go with him to the North Side of Houston to get the last one. And how Dad stayed up putting it together. She wanted to just go get one from wherever, but Dad wanted to get that one. That was proof that I was spoiled. I got exactly what I wanted.
I loved the Holiday season. It’s a time for food, family, children, and a chance to bring happiness to others. If that means volunteering at a soup kitchen, giving kids the things that asked for, a pretty dress for dinner, tables full of food made with love for family we haven’t seen in ages, whatever! Children don’t understand the concept of “A season of giving, not receiving.” Especially when we tell them to make a list for Santa. There is nothing wrong with that. But making them feel guilty and undeserving for making that fucking list that YOU asked for is bloody fucking wrong! If you are jealous of a child getting showered with love, affection, and attention; then Bitch, you need therapy. How is it a child’s fault if those around them love them enough to make sure they never want? I think my biggest peeve is that you NEVER asked what or why I wanted something or why I loved ballerinas or reading or what I wanted to be when I grew up. You told me what I wanted, that I was just a day dreamer, that my lot in life was to learn to cook and clean. When a friend of yours asked me why I loved ballerinas so much and I said because I wanted to be one, and she said I would never be a ballerina because my 10-year-old thighs were too fat, YOU LAUGHED WITH HER!!! WTF!!! You showered so many others with praise and encouragement, you chastised other parents for making their kids do without during the holidays, and fucking turn around and tell those same people and anyone else who would listen how goddamn spoiled I was. It wasn’t because of you, that’s for sure. I was never ungrateful. I told Billy and Leve and Dad and Papa and Carolyn and Aunt Tina thank you and I loved them. And they could have asked me anything and I would have done it, because I was grateful… and undeserving… of the gifts they showered me with.
Eventually, as an adult, I secretly hated this time of year. I became cynical. Both my ex-husband and Ihnzo would try to get me things for Christmas, and I would say, “It’s not about me getting, it’s about me giving to you and the kids. The kids are what is important.” I would pour myself into those big holiday dinners, making sure everything was made with the pure intention of love. I made sure I didn’t just spoil the kids, I spoiled my husband and you. Ihnzo understood the assignment though, making sure I bought something for myself while I was shopping. He knew it was difficult for me to ask for anything and he knew that if he did get me something, I would just return it. Even if it was something that I really wanted.
Actually, I think unpacking the whole Little Ann thing is needed, for context. And she needs to know that I don’t hate her or hold any ill-intent toward her. Not anymore, because it’s not her fault. She didn’t do anything. She was just a baby, who grew into a beautiful strong, loving woman. No thanks to you, I’m sure. Was she everything you wanted but didn’t get in a daughter? I could ask a dozen other questions about why you love her so much more than me, but it’s pointless. And the answers don’t really matter. It’s not about her, it’s about you wooing her mother to turn her into another devout follower. It’s about that little girl growing up to worship you and put you on a pedestal. I was so blinded by my own misguided hatred toward her that I couldn’t see the real enemy. I find myself asking (for 40+ years now) “Why did you ever have me if you never wanted me?” I don’t know if you did or didn’t want me. Frankly, it doesn’t matter anymore. Back to Little Ann though. I was told that I wouldn’t get a new Christmas dress anymore because you had to get her one. I was told that she lost her grandma before she was born and you had to be her grandma now, and therefore, I would have to give up my Christmas list because you had to get for her. And you were getting for her as a great-aunt and surrogate grandma. So what? You had to get her twice the damn gifts. What the Fuck were you making up for?? The straw that broke it all for me was the Christmas after my ex and I split. You told me that Dad wanted you to help me get my things from Kentucky. Get me up there, rent a Uhaul, and get me back home. I was told to be at the house for Christmas Eve, you had something for me. Little Ann got a new Dell computer, I got a decorative olive oil bottle from Pampered Chef. I would end up losing almost everything I had a few months later. And you would get pissed at me for not getting my shit back from Kentucky and that YOU lost your mother’s cookbooks. The Fuck, Bitch? That would be the last time I would ever expect anything from you. I realized where I ranked in your life. And I was your daughter, the one that would end up with the responsibility to care for you in your old age. For what? An olive oil bottle?
Over the years, I became bitter and hated the holiday season. It was all fake and a waste. I became the Grinch, a Humbug, Scrooge. But I still went all-out for the meal. I remember last year, actually impressing myself, outdoing my own expectations. There hasn’t been a tree in several years, my kitties’ safety is more important. There are no gifts this year. This year though, there will be Family. For the first time since I was a little girl, there will be real Family. I am going to pour myself and every ounce of love and gratitude I have into the food that will grace the table. Kitchen Witchery at its finest. I do believe in miracles, Santa Claus. And I still believe in Santa Claus, the Spirit of Yule. The holiday isn’t a chore anymore. It’s a time for me to finally give back, to give the greatest gift I can, from my very soul, to those that love me for me. A way to say thank you to those that chose to stand by me as I grow and change and find myself. I expect nothing in return. My gift is sitting in my driveway. And she’s a beautiful Blue Beast. As I sit here tonight typing these words away, the Spirit world has wrapped me in another gift, Dad sits with me. And every time I sit in the driver’s seat, I know he’s there, happy as a little kid at Christmas.
There is so much more I could say and want to say. I can’t find the words at the moment. I still don’t like getting anything. My head demon, Shame, still runs a lot of the show. I am learning to tame it. I want to sit under a tree just once in my life, laughing with friends and family, opening gifts and laughing, hugging, and being able to say thank you. I guess, I want to be part of the festivities instead of feeling like I’m on the outside, looking in.
Blessed Yule, Merry Christmas, and a Joyous Holiday Season….
Not a Christmas Carol, I know… But fitting I think
Dirt Room by Blue October
You think you own me
You should have known me
You took the future and the food off my family’s plate
You think you’ll use me
I’m stronger than you
You take my money, but it’s useless
When you see what I do to you
Look what I do to you
Songwriters: Charles Britton Iii Hudson / Jeremy Furstenfeld / Justin S Furstenfeld / Matt Novesky / Ryan Delahoussaye