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Kids sometimes don't have an especially good perception of time. When I say "kids," please understand that I mean "me as a kid," but plural so that I don't have to change any of the rest of that sentance.
To elaborate, I don't recall my first year or so of life at all. I know I lived in Virginia and Texas during that year but my first conscious memories are of living in Fairfield, Connecticut. Now, I know I was younger than three while living there because I remember my brother being born while we lived there and he's two years younger than me.
At the time, I recall feeling like I had always lived in Fairfield, had always played with the things I played with, had always known the people (mostly adults) that I knew. From my three year old perspective, everyone in my life had always existed and always would exist.
Well, except for that damn interloper, my brother.
My first memory of Christmas probably comes from the basement of my grandparent's house. Or whichever house they were living in at that time. There is photographic evidence of me at three with my cousins opening gifts, but I also remember it and remember being a little baffled by the whole unwrapping business. I was not baffled by the "oh shit, new toys" business. I got that.
When I think back on it, I feel like I had a thousand Christmases as a small child. I don't mean this figuratively. I mean I feel like Christmas happened a thousand times. During my single digit years, Christmas was such an important holiday that most of my memories of my extended family center around it. We saw each other on a bunch of other days during the year, but the Christmases always stand out.
Mostly because of the fighting between my aunts, but I suppose that's a subject for another entry.
No, what I ponder is that my 42 Christmases force me to ponder change and mortality. People vanish. New people arrive.
The thousand shadow Christmases of my youth center around a specific group of people:
My Parents
My Brother
My Paternal Grandparents
My Aunt June, whomever her husband or boyfriend was that particular year, and her son, my cousin Steve
My Crazy Aunt May, whomever her husband or boyfriend was that particular year, and her children - my cousin Eileen, my cousin Jay and my cousin Arnold
Santa Claus
The first person who left this group was Santa Claus. I figured out the truth about him in pre-school and felt like I'd joined the big people club, so I didn't miss him. I still had to eat at the kid's table though. Damn!
After that, the group was pretty stable for many, many years. Oh, sure, Aunt June and Aunt May had a series of husbands/boyfriends who'd join us for Christmas, but they generally did the same things and said the same things and drank the same amount. I'm not saying all of us men are interchangable, but we sort of are.
No, the first major change - much more major than Santa Claus - was the addition of the girlfriends and boyfriends of the cousins, including myself. This was generally a positive - if inevitably uncomfortable - event.
Then the deaths began. Aunt June of breast cancer. Paternal Grandmother of Skin Cancer.
Then the banishment - Aunt May was more or less forbidden to come to our house after she was emotionally abusive to my grandfather.
Then my Grandfather died.
Then the marriages and births.
Tomorrow, Christmas will consist of:
My parents
My brother, his wife, and his four kids
My cousin Steve, his wife and adopted daughter
My cousin Eileen and her in vitrio daughter
My wife and I
I look at my brother's oldest son (Joseph, age 7, named after my grandfather and father and his mom's father, all Josephs like me) and think that he's about where I was when this whole perception of Christmas thing started for me. That list of people will be his list in 35 years.
In 35 years, though, I'll be 77. My parents will almost certainly be dead. I suspect that cousin Steve and cousin Eileen will be long out of the picture. Hopefully, I'll have some kids and will still be having Christmas with my brother and his family. Chances are, nephew Jospeh will have a wife and kids of his own.
And then I have this great picture of my grandfather, age 5 with his parents. At one point, they had Christmas gatherings that I never heard about. Probably the attendees at those events morphed and changed over time - though at some point, my paternal grandparents pushed all of this own siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles completely out of their own lives.
I had an infinite number of Christmases when I was a kid. At 42, I feel the finite-ness of the Christmases to come. I don't get sad about it - its the inevitable march of time - but it does remind me that things change constantly and relentlessly.
And maybe, for an agnostic such as myself, that's the best thing about Christmas. It reminds me that I really need to spend time valuing the people who eat dinner with me tomorrow - at the adult table and the kids table. None of us are going to be here forever and its kind of wonderful that we get to be together at all.
To elaborate, I don't recall my first year or so of life at all. I know I lived in Virginia and Texas during that year but my first conscious memories are of living in Fairfield, Connecticut. Now, I know I was younger than three while living there because I remember my brother being born while we lived there and he's two years younger than me.
At the time, I recall feeling like I had always lived in Fairfield, had always played with the things I played with, had always known the people (mostly adults) that I knew. From my three year old perspective, everyone in my life had always existed and always would exist.
Well, except for that damn interloper, my brother.
My first memory of Christmas probably comes from the basement of my grandparent's house. Or whichever house they were living in at that time. There is photographic evidence of me at three with my cousins opening gifts, but I also remember it and remember being a little baffled by the whole unwrapping business. I was not baffled by the "oh shit, new toys" business. I got that.
When I think back on it, I feel like I had a thousand Christmases as a small child. I don't mean this figuratively. I mean I feel like Christmas happened a thousand times. During my single digit years, Christmas was such an important holiday that most of my memories of my extended family center around it. We saw each other on a bunch of other days during the year, but the Christmases always stand out.
Mostly because of the fighting between my aunts, but I suppose that's a subject for another entry.
No, what I ponder is that my 42 Christmases force me to ponder change and mortality. People vanish. New people arrive.
The thousand shadow Christmases of my youth center around a specific group of people:
My Parents
My Brother
My Paternal Grandparents
My Aunt June, whomever her husband or boyfriend was that particular year, and her son, my cousin Steve
My Crazy Aunt May, whomever her husband or boyfriend was that particular year, and her children - my cousin Eileen, my cousin Jay and my cousin Arnold
Santa Claus
The first person who left this group was Santa Claus. I figured out the truth about him in pre-school and felt like I'd joined the big people club, so I didn't miss him. I still had to eat at the kid's table though. Damn!
After that, the group was pretty stable for many, many years. Oh, sure, Aunt June and Aunt May had a series of husbands/boyfriends who'd join us for Christmas, but they generally did the same things and said the same things and drank the same amount. I'm not saying all of us men are interchangable, but we sort of are.
No, the first major change - much more major than Santa Claus - was the addition of the girlfriends and boyfriends of the cousins, including myself. This was generally a positive - if inevitably uncomfortable - event.
Then the deaths began. Aunt June of breast cancer. Paternal Grandmother of Skin Cancer.
Then the banishment - Aunt May was more or less forbidden to come to our house after she was emotionally abusive to my grandfather.
Then my Grandfather died.
Then the marriages and births.
Tomorrow, Christmas will consist of:
My parents
My brother, his wife, and his four kids
My cousin Steve, his wife and adopted daughter
My cousin Eileen and her in vitrio daughter
My wife and I
I look at my brother's oldest son (Joseph, age 7, named after my grandfather and father and his mom's father, all Josephs like me) and think that he's about where I was when this whole perception of Christmas thing started for me. That list of people will be his list in 35 years.
In 35 years, though, I'll be 77. My parents will almost certainly be dead. I suspect that cousin Steve and cousin Eileen will be long out of the picture. Hopefully, I'll have some kids and will still be having Christmas with my brother and his family. Chances are, nephew Jospeh will have a wife and kids of his own.
And then I have this great picture of my grandfather, age 5 with his parents. At one point, they had Christmas gatherings that I never heard about. Probably the attendees at those events morphed and changed over time - though at some point, my paternal grandparents pushed all of this own siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles completely out of their own lives.
I had an infinite number of Christmases when I was a kid. At 42, I feel the finite-ness of the Christmases to come. I don't get sad about it - its the inevitable march of time - but it does remind me that things change constantly and relentlessly.
And maybe, for an agnostic such as myself, that's the best thing about Christmas. It reminds me that I really need to spend time valuing the people who eat dinner with me tomorrow - at the adult table and the kids table. None of us are going to be here forever and its kind of wonderful that we get to be together at all.
Chatto!
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devastated
nerdy