Christmas is not my favorite time of year. It probably doesn’t even rank in the top three. I’m not entirely bah, humbug. I do like Christmas lights and trees and Santa and Nativity scenes. I’m basically down with the decorations (except blow-mold anything). However, I do not like being told how I should feel for a good month and a half (not to mention being told how I should spend my money, but my friend Jeff has already said this better than I could). Stop telling me that I have to be cheerful and wish for snow or else I am some kind of freak.
Of course, being as self-aware as I am, I know where this all stems from. I had about four Christmases with both my mother and father together, and since they coincided with the first four years of my life, I really don’t remember much. Then, after my mother and step-father moved me from MI to GA, much of my holiday was spent in a car or on a plane traveling to my father and away from my mother, then vice-versa. I was always happy to see someone and missing someone at the same time.
While in MI, with my father, I would have Christmas with my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. All his family lived within a 40 mile radius of one another. I lived 800 miles away and only saw them maybe twice a year. They were my blood relatives and complete strangers, my father included. I wasn’t any closer to my mother’s side of the family except for my grandma.
Christmas in GA was only slightly better in that at least I was in more familiar surroundings and it was seldom snowing. It was really nice when my sister was there, but her father lived in MI, too, and she had moved out on her own, so she had her own Christmas to deal with.
So, excuse me if I don’t want to bake cookies, or wear bells. Don’t judge me because I don’t own any Christmas themed clothing and my decorations are blue and silver, not red and green. Although I am very happy to be around any family this time of year, I can’t help but think about who I will not see this Christmas.