My mother wasn’t much for holidays, and I only recall seeing
our scraggly, 1960-something Christmas tree once or twice before I was eight.
Most of my youth is fairly hazy, though I’m not sure why, but I remember one
present clearly, because I kept it well into my adulthood: a little radio with
turntable that I received when I was eleven or so. It was the gift that pissed my
sister off the most. But with a birthday on January 10th, apparently
it was thought that combing Christmas and birthday would…what? Fool me? Save my
mom time? Maybe I had even been given a choice to get one big gift instead of
two smaller ones. Regardless, it was a wonderful and thoughtful gift that made
me happy, guilty, and sad all at the same time. The combination of emotions I
struggled with for many years.
Even at an early age I was independent and wanted to make others
happy. There were ramification to independence in my family. If I wanted something done I’d have to do it myself; if I
wanted something, I’d have to find a way to get it myself. This may be why I
started working so young.
After those gullible Santa years, I braved the cold
dark garage, climbing the wood ladder, and somehow retrieving the damn tree –
and the box of ornaments – from the attic myself several times. Bugging and
reminding my parents never worked, and they didn’t seem to notice when things
just appeared and got done.
Holidays didn’t fare much better when I was married.
Christmas and thanksgiving were spent at my in-laws, because soliciting my
husband’s help meant an argument and frustration. Much like my youth, I learned
to do most things myself if I wanted them done. So any tree at home was up to
me.
It wasn’t just holidays, though, it was keeping my brother,
sister, mom and I together through all the drama and the fights, making sure my
husband and I did things with his friends, getting us to and from my in-laws,
making sure presents were bought and wrapped, and calling my dad a few weeks or
months after my birthday so he could wish me well. Pleasing and doing becomes a
burden when it’s one-sided, though. Thirty-three years of one-sided got old
after a while.
In observation of myself and of others, I’ve come to believe
that when we’re accustomed to something and know nothing else, that something
becomes the norm. In reading John
Dewey, my thoughts were affirmed; we can either hold on tight to old truths or
discover new truths. In hindsight, I believe that I was perpetuating old habits
when I went from my parents to husband.
In divorcing my husband, I created new norms and built new
habits. Got past and through things that no longer hurt me. In divorcing my husband, I created Christmas for myself; funny thing
is, though, I’m now Agnostic.
