I know they don't have the magic in them that I feel they used to. When I actively knew the things I wanted and would sit and compose elaborate letters to Santa even if our school made us. Sometimes we'd be forced to draw pictures or do something silly like that. The magic was still alive, though.
To this day I'm still made fun of by my family for a picture I colored in - I believe - Kindergarten. It was of Santa. I decided to draw a cigarette (or is it supposed to be a pipe? - My artistic skills at tobacco products were limited) in his mouth. I'm not sure why I did, other than maybe it felt normal to me because the Dad smoked. Or maybe it was because my favorite pipe that my Dad has was one that had Santa's head as the pipe. I'm still not sure why I drew it. I don't even remember consciously doing it. I just remember the picture because it would be hanging in the kitchen every year since I colored it and gave it to my parents. Now if I tried to color a christmas picture for them (when it would be quality and look like what it is supposed to) they'd laugh and call me silly. And it wouldn't be hanged anywhere... it would get lost or thrown away while the abominations of my youth haunt the kitchen in decorated glory.
But again those were times when I enjoyed the holiday seasons. When as a kid I'd be awake at 4:30 in the morning creeping down-downstairs where I knew my Dad would be awake smoking a cigarette, perhaps on the computer, or watching a fishing show on TV. We all know Fishing shows are always on early-early in the mornings, because no one really wants to watch them beside the Dad. Sometimes I would drag down a new sparkly present that was left out by Santa because those things were fair game because they weren't wrapped. I'm sure my Dad dreaded those mornings because Christmas was the only morning that I would be awake that early (unless I was sick and felt as if I were dying) and he'd have to deal with me in his face until it was late enough we could wake mom up to open presents (usually no earlier than 6:30 or 7 or it would be our heads). Or maybe the Dad would enjoy it because it would just be him and me and I'd usually be quiet intent on whatever new object I had brought down with me. Sometime around 5:30 or 6 Ajax would show up and wait down-downstairs with the Dad and me -him clutching a new toy as well.
Again that was when there was something special about the holidays. When we were always eager for the day to come and we'd get to play with new things and I still dreaded it to a certain extent because there would be a new poofy dress I was expected to put on and prance off to church in. There were two that I really liked that I remember. One a pretty forest green with a big flower attached my ribbon draping around my five year old waist that was also forest green. The other royal purple and silky that Nana had bought me. Then off to Church we'd go as a family which would always been full with people who never attended church except on Christmas or Easter.
Then the years passed and we had to answer the letters to Santa that the second graders wrote and sent out. We posed as elves and answered in Santa's place. I remember being very annoyed when I got my letter back in Second Grade and the elf looked suspiciously like my brother - doning his jynco jeans and naming himself Toucan which happened to be the bird of his favorite cereal. Lucky for him I'd already known for three years Santa wasn't real or I'd really have been angry. By the time I was writing the letters to second graders I was still okay with Christmas, it was like it had always been except I was less and less materialistic as the years went on.
The older I got the less and less often I would be likely to get up to do anything on Christmas. We've been going to Midnight Mass for years upon years and so usually Ajax and I sleep in and it's the parents who wait on us to open presents. Usually yelling up at as once it hits 10am because it's unreasonable and we -seriously- need to get up before Christmas is over and we've missed it. Which I begrudgingly get up with enough enthusiasm to crank up "Merry Fucking Christmas" by Mr. Garrison from South Park to spite the Mom for disturbing my slumber while she mutters, "Zelda, That's Terrible!". And I chuckle to myself feeling contented. If it weren't for being my tradition I probably would blast Mr. Garrison's song, but it always gets the reaction I wish.
But this year everything feels even more different than it did previously. I mean I'm more than ready to be done with classes for a while. I'm deeply going to enjoy not having to use my brain for a little while. However, things are weird this year.
I don't know if it's just because I am grandparent-less this year or if it's something because I'm older again. But it just doesn't feel like a happy time of year this time around. I feel like I'm just stuck... The quote I'm about to post is what I put on Facebook while feeling particularly down about the season,
Can I please just run away to Virginia or Texas? I hate this time of year at the moment. All I think about are the people gone. All I dream about are seeing their faces. And I want to know I'm really grounded, even when it feels like I'm pulled away. I want to...I don't know. Be out of Idaho and go somewhere. Anywhere else. I want to see the family I haven't seen in years and stop missing them so much. I don't know what it is, but I get what the Mom says. It just doesn't feel like a happy season. It sucks. I want a new one.
After I wrote this I ended up making Holiday Wreathes that I'd made with Grandma a couple of times and I always end up associating with her. But still this holiday season just feels off. Maybe it will feel better after I'm done with Final Exams and can go to the Parent's house and relax for a bit...
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