I have a confession. I hate Christmas. Now, don't get me wrong; I'm not a Scrooge. I just... can't stand it. Everyone acts the way they should be acting every day of their life. Why? Greed and guilt. They want something from someone and they think that acting like a good person during the Christmas season will somehow absolve them of all the wrong they do the rest of the year. Now a days, Christmas is a little less Christ and a lot more worshiping an old fat guy in red pajamas. It's ridiculous! So, when Christmas rolls around, I avoid the nauseating and repetitive tunes and mall Santas and cheer. I avoid all merry-making as a general rule and don't participate in caroling or other cheesy and meaningless activities. I shop months before hand, and only because I want everyone to have a little something – partly because I know they will get me something and partly because I want to see them smile. Mostly I sit around, help out where I am needed, complain about the cold, and give whatever I have in my pockets at the time to a donation bucket whenever I pass one. And if my pockets are bare, I make sure to come back to that one as soon as I can with an entire hoard of coins.
Seem strange to you? Not to me. I know how it feels to be poor, to be eight years old and wonder if your mum can afford to buy groceries and pay the bills. I know how it feels to not remember when you last had new clothes or coats that fit proper. I know how it feels to cry yourself to sleep every night because you know how much it took for your mum to go to a church in a small town where people gossip evilly just to get food to feed you and your brother. And worst of all, I know how it feels to know your dad and know he's out there somewhere with little miss half-his-age, and know that just suddenly out of the blue, after eight years you mean as little to him as you did before you existed.
I never had much growing up, but overall I was thankful for what I did have even if sometimes I didn't act like it. Now that I am older, I look back on the Christmases of my childhood and I weep. I don't cry a little, I weep - deep and painfully with guilt. At the time, I never realized how hard my mum had to work to make sure we had a few things to open on Christmas morning, just so that we could feel like a normal family. I remember not being as grateful as I should have been for the things I was given for Christmas and for always wishing that I had more, like my friends did. I remember wishing that we were normal like everyone else. To this day, I feel such immense guilt for that. Any time I get anything – from anyone – no matter if it's dinner or a small birthday present, I feel so guilty that I get physically sick. I try to avoid getting anything at all costs; it always reminds me of my mum – working day and night at two jobs, trying to take care of us while struggling with cancer and everything else while I sat by, helpless.
I will never forget that feeling. No child should constantly stress over grown-up things that they don't even fully understand. And don't misunderstand me. I'm not blaming my mum – she's a freaking saint. I'm not feeling sorry for myself – I am grateful that I had these hardships so that I would learn what so few people do: you can never take anything for granted. Everything you have could be taken away in the blink of an eye. We all have to grow up sometime. For me, that time came very early. Every day, I thank God that I had such a kind mother to raise me and make me who I am today. I thank Him that I never had the chance to be spoiled and expect everything to go my way. I thank Him for all the hardships we had then so that I can appreciate what I have now.
So, you may think it harsh, but I don't give a damn: here and now, I want it known that I will never allow the Santa tradition in my house. To my children, Christmas will be a time of giving, not receiving. As a family, we will donate everything we don't need, don't use, or have grown out of to families that are growing up as I did. We will attend church on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning – church service or not – if only to sit in the chapel and reflect on just how lucky we are. I won't be a horrible parent or anything. My kids will still get one or two small sentimental gifts and one special gift (or something like that). And they'll still eat sweets, watch Christmas movies, visit family, and decorate trees.
Call me crazy, but I just want Christmas to mean a little more than flying reindeer and expensive gadgets.
Seem strange to you? Not to me. I know how it feels to be poor, to be eight years old and wonder if your mum can afford to buy groceries and pay the bills. I know how it feels to not remember when you last had new clothes or coats that fit proper. I know how it feels to cry yourself to sleep every night because you know how much it took for your mum to go to a church in a small town where people gossip evilly just to get food to feed you and your brother. And worst of all, I know how it feels to know your dad and know he's out there somewhere with little miss half-his-age, and know that just suddenly out of the blue, after eight years you mean as little to him as you did before you existed.
I never had much growing up, but overall I was thankful for what I did have even if sometimes I didn't act like it. Now that I am older, I look back on the Christmases of my childhood and I weep. I don't cry a little, I weep - deep and painfully with guilt. At the time, I never realized how hard my mum had to work to make sure we had a few things to open on Christmas morning, just so that we could feel like a normal family. I remember not being as grateful as I should have been for the things I was given for Christmas and for always wishing that I had more, like my friends did. I remember wishing that we were normal like everyone else. To this day, I feel such immense guilt for that. Any time I get anything – from anyone – no matter if it's dinner or a small birthday present, I feel so guilty that I get physically sick. I try to avoid getting anything at all costs; it always reminds me of my mum – working day and night at two jobs, trying to take care of us while struggling with cancer and everything else while I sat by, helpless.
I will never forget that feeling. No child should constantly stress over grown-up things that they don't even fully understand. And don't misunderstand me. I'm not blaming my mum – she's a freaking saint. I'm not feeling sorry for myself – I am grateful that I had these hardships so that I would learn what so few people do: you can never take anything for granted. Everything you have could be taken away in the blink of an eye. We all have to grow up sometime. For me, that time came very early. Every day, I thank God that I had such a kind mother to raise me and make me who I am today. I thank Him that I never had the chance to be spoiled and expect everything to go my way. I thank Him for all the hardships we had then so that I can appreciate what I have now.
So, you may think it harsh, but I don't give a damn: here and now, I want it known that I will never allow the Santa tradition in my house. To my children, Christmas will be a time of giving, not receiving. As a family, we will donate everything we don't need, don't use, or have grown out of to families that are growing up as I did. We will attend church on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning – church service or not – if only to sit in the chapel and reflect on just how lucky we are. I won't be a horrible parent or anything. My kids will still get one or two small sentimental gifts and one special gift (or something like that). And they'll still eat sweets, watch Christmas movies, visit family, and decorate trees.
Call me crazy, but I just want Christmas to mean a little more than flying reindeer and expensive gadgets.
