re-write of Happy Holidays
This was my first holiday season alone.
I estranged myself from my family in August, and just like that, thirty years of tradition became sitting in my apartment smoking weed into a box fan…my friends were out of town, or I was ignoring them.
There was an unhealthy mix of both.
I always thought that Christmas time was my favorite time of year, but I think I like the idea of Christmas, not the reality of it.
I should be more self-aware here. I like my idea of Christmas, not the actual reason for Christmas. That’s not a political statement, I just don’t know enough about it to claim any authority over the meaning.
I would always talk to my friends and coworkers about how much I loved Christmas with my family. Each year though, Christmas got a little colder, and yes, that’s a metaphor.
Looking back, I think I was really remembering just one Christmas and I convinced myself it was every year… It was the last year my brother and I were still in high school. We went hard that year. I’m sure my parents put a little extra in because they knew change was coming.
I was too naive to think that far ahead, but I don’t think any of us were ready for that change when my brother moved out for college….
It was as I was coughing my smoke into the back of the fan that I realized something I never gave my brother credit for. Which is something we never gave our parents credit for. And our parents never gave us credit for either.
That was a linguistic journey up Mount Whatthefuck…
We never talked about being the first one (I’m back to my brother by the way) to leave the family circle. He got a lot of shit for from all of us for becoming a ‘yuppie’ when he went to college. The same shit I got when I went to college because….Karma. He wasn’t a yuppie, and neither am I. We just expanded out horizons and went beyond our safe little hometown.
I wish everyone could just put their collective guard down, and talk.
Talk about the feelings.
Talk about the pain.
Talk about everything.
Featured image by: Josh Nuttall