Christmas of yore

I figured I would share a little of what my childhood Christmases were like, and when it all went south for me.  Because once upon a time, it was good.  No, it was really sweet.

For me, Christmas wasn’t the big deal.  Christmas Eve was.  Oh, granted, I didn’t get along with my mother at all, and that’s an entirely different story that has no place here, but I adored her parents (Nanny and Papa), and they adored me.  They came over on Christmas Eve, so that for me was the great food and masses of presents and being allowed a couple of Shirley Temples (and a hint of bourbon in later years)  When I was super little, my dad even played Santa Claus, and in the naivete of youth, I never realized that like Prince Adam and HeMan, Clark Kent and Superman, my dad and Santa were never seen together.  MAGIC!

One other thing I remember is I always, always, always got one or two gifts that encouraged artistic talent.  A little odd since my parents never wanted that to be a career (and that was just protectiveness, because how many people really end up making a living at it?), but they kept the creative spark going.

Christmas day was always spent with my paternal grandparents, who were not particularly affectionate.  In fact, my grandfather was a borderline pervert, again something I won’t get into here.  It made for a totally nondescript holiday.  We went to their house for dinner, which was not great or good or horrible.  I simply don’t remember any of them, so it was probably mediocre at best.  The difference between Christmas Eve and Christmas day was startling.

So to this day, while all of Christmas is a month-long misery, being alone on Christmas Eve is a hundred times more painful.  I don’t even give much of a shit about Christmas day.  Hell, I can sleep through it.  Or see a movie.  But there is simply no way, although another family has been very good to me the past couple years on Christmas Eve, no way I can ever recapture those long gone ones, and it exemplifies the whole “you can’t go home again”.

Sorry if I bummed you out.  Have a drink, hug a loved one, and just share that its not so easy for everyone.

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One thought on “Christmas of yore

  1. I can relate…we spent Christmas Eve with relatives, all of which are dead. Except for my fathers’s family who disowned me, for reasons I still don’t understand. Now I cry and drink my way thru the holidays. I miss my dad, and can’t even talk about it because my mom won’t allow a decent word spoken about him. I have no one to remember him with. Unless of course, I want to talk about all the bad shit. Nope, can’t talk about all the good times. You can always call me Carol. Love, Lin.

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