ghost of christmas past
my depression is seasonal.. i can expect my mood to sink, and to be as dark as the days, when the days grow short. i've wondered if it's because of a psychological need for light, or is it because of the history?
"You and Charlie are going back to spend Christmas with Mom and Pap." all of us kids had moved out after pap's drunken fit. he had raped mom from one room to the next, kicking doors down as he went. i stood helplessly in the hallway and screamed at him to stop, mustering all the bravado i could, until mom said "Just go on to school...it'll be alright, just go on to school. Go on, right now, just go on." feeling useless, a failure, i did. friends of BJ took us in. they had a two-year-old daughter of their own, and one on the way, but they took us anyway. five of us crowded into their tiny house with them. i slept in a recliner, and i hated it. the house smelled of diapers and sour milk, there was nothing to eat, and nothing to do. but the thought of going back... mom and pap had gone to court though, and gotten a judge to order me and my sister Charlie, two years older than me, to go back to the "family home" to spend Christmas with mom and pap.
we had never been a religious family. i had been baptised at a revival when we lived a half-block from the Baptist church in Fort Cobb, but mom and pap never went to church. so for us, Christmas was all about the presents. our "tradition" was to stay up until midnight on Christmas eve, and then open all the presents. we would stay up as long as our energy held out, playing with whatever toys we got and eating candy from our stockings, and then finally collapse from sheer exhaustion. there were frequently years when we didn't have much money, and the words "there might not be any Christmas this year" inevitably were uttered, there seemed to always be a Christmas after all. as a kid, i always hated to get clothes, or gloves or ear muffs. i could usually guess my presents, and when it came time to open them i would always open the least-desirable ones first and save the best for last. but when i was seven i had one octogon-shaped package that puzzled me. it didn't rattle when i shook it, didn't feel like anything i could imagine. on that Christmas, i saved that package to be the very last one i opened, savoring the anticipation and curiosity as long as possible. when i opened it, i found a leather belt rolled up into a thin cardboard wrapper.
we did follow the tradition that year. we stayed up until midnight to open presents but it wasn't fun. there was an uneasy tension, and every present felt like a bribe. i don't remember a single thing i unwrapped. after Christmas, Charlie and I went back to live with BJ's friends. they found a large two-storey house that held us all better. mom and pap separated. they lost the house.
the next Christmas, Brenda was driving Charlie and me somewhere, i don't remember where. the '63 Ford Falcon had water in the gas tank, and at the most inopportune times it would just die and refuse to start again. on this particular inopportune night, it was about fifteen degrees below freezing. finally we gave up trying to start the car and decided to walk the mile and a half to Bobby's. he was a guy our oldest sister was living with. that was a hateful journey. in the dark, cars whizzing past us on Western, we trudged with heads down to keep as much wind off our faces as we could. forty-five minutes later we arrived with ears, fingers and toes stinging like they were on fire, noses running, glasses fogged, cheeks flushed. Evelyn was not expecting us, but of course she let us in. Bobby had a young son, a toddler from his failed marriage. Evelyn had gotten him some presents, trying to give him a sense that she was somewhat of a mother for him. She had something for us too. She dug under the tree and pulled out a present for me and one for Charlie. I tore off the paper of mine and found...a pair of socks. I immediately felt both slighted and ashamed.
my depression is seasonal. 'tis the season.
"You and Charlie are going back to spend Christmas with Mom and Pap." all of us kids had moved out after pap's drunken fit. he had raped mom from one room to the next, kicking doors down as he went. i stood helplessly in the hallway and screamed at him to stop, mustering all the bravado i could, until mom said "Just go on to school...it'll be alright, just go on to school. Go on, right now, just go on." feeling useless, a failure, i did. friends of BJ took us in. they had a two-year-old daughter of their own, and one on the way, but they took us anyway. five of us crowded into their tiny house with them. i slept in a recliner, and i hated it. the house smelled of diapers and sour milk, there was nothing to eat, and nothing to do. but the thought of going back... mom and pap had gone to court though, and gotten a judge to order me and my sister Charlie, two years older than me, to go back to the "family home" to spend Christmas with mom and pap.
we had never been a religious family. i had been baptised at a revival when we lived a half-block from the Baptist church in Fort Cobb, but mom and pap never went to church. so for us, Christmas was all about the presents. our "tradition" was to stay up until midnight on Christmas eve, and then open all the presents. we would stay up as long as our energy held out, playing with whatever toys we got and eating candy from our stockings, and then finally collapse from sheer exhaustion. there were frequently years when we didn't have much money, and the words "there might not be any Christmas this year" inevitably were uttered, there seemed to always be a Christmas after all. as a kid, i always hated to get clothes, or gloves or ear muffs. i could usually guess my presents, and when it came time to open them i would always open the least-desirable ones first and save the best for last. but when i was seven i had one octogon-shaped package that puzzled me. it didn't rattle when i shook it, didn't feel like anything i could imagine. on that Christmas, i saved that package to be the very last one i opened, savoring the anticipation and curiosity as long as possible. when i opened it, i found a leather belt rolled up into a thin cardboard wrapper.
we did follow the tradition that year. we stayed up until midnight to open presents but it wasn't fun. there was an uneasy tension, and every present felt like a bribe. i don't remember a single thing i unwrapped. after Christmas, Charlie and I went back to live with BJ's friends. they found a large two-storey house that held us all better. mom and pap separated. they lost the house.
the next Christmas, Brenda was driving Charlie and me somewhere, i don't remember where. the '63 Ford Falcon had water in the gas tank, and at the most inopportune times it would just die and refuse to start again. on this particular inopportune night, it was about fifteen degrees below freezing. finally we gave up trying to start the car and decided to walk the mile and a half to Bobby's. he was a guy our oldest sister was living with. that was a hateful journey. in the dark, cars whizzing past us on Western, we trudged with heads down to keep as much wind off our faces as we could. forty-five minutes later we arrived with ears, fingers and toes stinging like they were on fire, noses running, glasses fogged, cheeks flushed. Evelyn was not expecting us, but of course she let us in. Bobby had a young son, a toddler from his failed marriage. Evelyn had gotten him some presents, trying to give him a sense that she was somewhat of a mother for him. She had something for us too. She dug under the tree and pulled out a present for me and one for Charlie. I tore off the paper of mine and found...a pair of socks. I immediately felt both slighted and ashamed.
my depression is seasonal. 'tis the season.
posted by fool2cr at 11/27/2006 05:55:00 PM
2 Comments:
Wow Lee. I was right there with you as you relived these Christmases. I know about the disappointments and the weary long days of being misplaced and basically "unwanted". Did you go back to live with your mom after all of this?
Some parents, although they believe they did the best they could, were really not doing the best they could. They were just self absorbed, selfish and existing the only way they thought they could do. Some parents are just too lazy to do it different.
I only observe this in my own, and even observe it in myself. Now that I am no longer a young woman, I am certain now, I could have tried harder.
What are you like today, with your children?
after this happened, i moved more times than i care to count. i lived with one parent or the other or a sister, usually for about a year at a stretch, until i was 16.
how am i with my kids today? still trying i guess. they have a home here, so i feel like they at least have more than i had. they've never heard a parent say "there might not be any Christmas this year." they are a little spoiled, maybe.
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