Holidays

I don't like Christmas. There, that's it. I don't like the holiday. This isn't because I'm offended at a "religious zealot holiday" or anything like that. Hell, I'm Episcopalian. I went to Midnight Mass. But the holiday, the federal holiday? I can't say I care much for it.

Christmas takes over everything it touches. I can't find a decent radio station that hasn't been consumed by the beast. I can't find a TV station immune, even the news channels were packed with Christmas related stories all day. I can't go to any store in the city without being deluged with Salvation Army collectors calling out Merry Christmas or the same five or six songs blaring out muzak style over the store.

There's a ton of pressure on Christmas. I'm not rich, not by a long shot. I barely have spare change most months, much less a ton of disposable income. But lord if I don't spend my yearly wages worth on Christmas everyone acts like I'm some sociopath that needs to be shunned and quarantined for months because I wasn't nice enough to plink down two-hundred bucks on some guy I've only seen four times all year.

Christmas is a time of year that reminds me of my family. You can't help it. Everywhere you look someone is shoving Family in your face over these last two months. "Nothing like home for the holidays" and "No one loves you like your family does", things like that which have proven true in only a perverse sense.

A few years ago I lost my roofing job during winter. Came home for Christmas, my first year out of the house. Oh, everyone was smiles and laughs at first, sure. My sister actually acted like she might have missed me, my mother was about as human and loving as she gets. Then came the time I had to talk to her. My landlord had decided to kick me out since I was unemployed. My friend saw him changing the locks and pawning my stuff. I had no job, and no place, and nothing to my name.

I told my mother. It was just two days after Christmas. Immediately I saw her true nature come back to her. She accused me of being a drug dealer and a theif, laughable since I've never even seen someone selling drugs. Not that I knew of. I had no interest in the stuff. And hadn't stolen anything since some penny candy when I was four. She accused me of lying to her, coming home just so I could rob her blind, take money from her, and disappear again. Nevermind she kicked me out without warning when I had my 18th birthday. Well, little warning. It was, "You got a week to get the hell out of here," that she gave me. When before in my life I was told I could stay if I went to school, which I was doing.

Three days after Christmas, she turned me out on the street. With nothing more than a hastily packed bag of the various clothes and snack type foods I managed to salvage out of my Christmas gifts, and not a penny to my name again. It was winter. The ground was frozen. And I had no idea how to survive homeless. I had no idea what sort of services I might have gotten to help me. It's not like they teach you about Social Services and Homeless Shelters in the course of your education after all.

It wasn't until late April that I managed to get in contact with my best friend I had. Curtis helped me more than any member of my family ever would. My mother had contacted all my aunts, uncles, and cousins and warned them about my "Drug dealing, theif, gang banger ways". Curtis knew better. Hell, he laughed when he heard that my family believed that. As did I when she first confronted me about it, it was that absurd to me.

Curtis gave me a bus ticket up to Yakima. He put me up in a motel til I could get a place and a job. He helped me every step of the way. He still helps me out when I need it, and pushes me towards what I should do when my will fails me.

Family... Christmas...

All it reminds me of is that, when I really needed help, when I was down and out and hit rock bottom, my family decided to kick me in the eye rather than even spare a kind word.

I hate Christmas.



Til next time,

Grind Away