The Christmas Issue

Christmas was, for my parents, the day of going off like Roman candles,  like pre-quake barking dogs and/or warring dorm stereos -- loud, jarring, tense and thankfully just with each other. There was never noticeable, to this child anyway, provocation, preface, count down or even post fray Cliff Notes.

We kids waited for breaks in the action to open our presents. The success of the holiday was measured, or so it appeared, in decibels. The more bels the merrier they were.

I MUCH preferred the Easter holiday. My folks were always happy, rather, happy and not fighting, on that day. We went to midnight mass, came home and slept late. We awoke to Easter baskets containing clever, intricate maps to our decorated eggs, chocolate bunnies and, best of all, our new Easter dresses and shoes.

As a young adult I made big efforts to ignore the Christmas holiday entirely. One year I sold fireworks, with other carnies, on a street corner in Houston. Vaguely interesting, I made money for schoolbooks and art supplies but not fun. “What does this one do?” We were told that, when a customer asked and we didn’t know the answer and this was usually the case, we were to respond with  “it spins around and makes big colored sparks.” Being properly authoritative and convincing on this was not one of my life successes. I’ve come to terms with my utter lack of skill in working the grift. I'm OK with me about this.

Another year, after I’d moved to Boston, I planned to spend it on my own -- reading, watching TV, painting and having a nice cuppa chianti. My boss at that time wouldn’t hear of it -- surely someone alone on Christmas was depressed, lonely and itching for an invitation somewhere. He invited me over to his place and would NOT accept my “no honestly, I’m fine” for an answer. I realized that he was the lonely one -- his wife, an Israeli Jew, didn’t see the day as anything beyond a day off from work (which is well worth celebrating in and of itself)-- and he really wanted a Christmas celebration. I imagine I disappointed him greatly. We had a drink, a meal and then I said “gotta go -- I’m catching the 5 o’clock showing of The Terminator.” (hey, you pick your Christmas flicks, I’ll pick mine.)

I finally found my alternative happy Christmas with The Amazing Bob™. He too had nasty memories of Christmas battles. Together we made a new tradition. This one is low key, quiet even. We start the day with our regular routines (a long walk for me and doodling on the piano for him) and then order in Chinese for lunch, watch movies, play Scrabble and then visit next door with Jen’s big family.

It’s actually only in the past few years that I’ve come to understand, (yeah, I’m kinda slow) that my parents were and still are truly, madly, deeply in love. I’ll never understand that kind of relationship but I now get that it’s possible for love to exist inside a storm of anger. Some, like my folks, may even need it to survive. Not my bag though -- I need sunny days, peace and dark chocolate coconut creams.