freezing man sits empty cup
wind blows windows above finely clothed sup
exchanges amok Chingaling Chingaling Chingaling
Do you find yourself feeling alone at holiday times?
Do you wish the societal and social pressures of “happy shiny family gatherings” would just evaporate?
That is not to say I don’t appreciate those images but what I do appreciate is that the representation is almost entirely false.
You see, they left out that Aunt Marg will get so drunk she’ll walk right out of her bloomers in the loo and leave her wine low enough that little Micky can reach it.
You think Aunt Marg is a bad drunk?
You’ve never seen little Micky.
Up he jumps onto any lap that will have him (closer to the booze that way), clowning and performing as all good children and pets are trained to do.
Why is this so odd? Because he is normally a shy, retiring type of six years who prefers to retreat to his room and play whenever the family descend for the holidays.
Booze changes people.
Adults will forget they left their drinks within such easy reach. They will be pretty tanked themselves and think it quite cute when Micky acts up.
By the time he finds Aunt Marg’s bloomers, she won’t need them because she will be at the handsome single neighbor man’s house doing who knows what with who knows who but at least he won’t be alone for Christmas this year.
And Oh! The arguments. Doesn’t everyone just love a good old fashioned argument?
Unless it’s all of your siblings at it because they are already arguing about who will host the next arguing holiday.
Who will have Mom and Dad, who will take the Easter dinner…
With the advent of so many blended families and divorce about as common as marriage, children and step children are being argued over – who will they be with next – who will have them for how long and when – when all they care about is getting back home to their friends who let them just be children… no matter the occasion, no matter what they are eating. Saying thank you for their gifts can be the end of the holiday for most will not be seen again until the next Christmas… Well, perhaps on their birthday. If the parents are lucky.
Then you have your cliques. You know. The same group hang with the same group no matter the occasion.
You can just feel the air growing sharp with sarcasm they don’t say loud enough to hear but that’s okay, their mutually rolling eyeballs and gestures do all the talking they couldn’t be bothered walking. It doesn’t matter what the event or occasion, this bunch can find a corner in a round room from which to dispense and exchange their snide remarks about everyone else at the gathering. (Did you see what she WORE??? Oh, he certainly has been off the wagon so long the wheels have rusted. Get a load of that stuffing – mushrooms? Who puts mushrooms in their stuffing? I don’t know whatever possessed her to think she could even make home made gravy…)
Dear Jesus, I pray at such times, despite the fact I am neither Christian nor a religious follower of any sort only rather a free spirited spirit all my own, kindly let me drop dead before Easter. I just can’t listen to this gong show one more time. Amen. And thank you.
And check out Grandpa Reggie. He’s fast asleep by the fire, his hearing aids safely tucked away at home.
Save for passing him a plate of food and chunk of overbaked pumpkin pie, he doesn’t really join in or pay much attention to anything any more.
Appears Grandpa Reggie is the only one with the way to do Christmas down pat, all alone despite all the lovely people.
Everyone vows they won’t be doing this again. The long highway drive through near white out conditions. Nossir. The planning, the buying, the ideas all burst like every good cartoon bubble above the characters’ heads. Not going through this ever again.
What a bunch of liars.
(c) 2006 JAM (AuroraMorealist)
(photo credit: Wikipedia)
In a class tonight I was given to thoughts of running right out the door, racing home long before the teaching was done. The urge to flee is not unusual for me because of the intensity of these courses meant to impart communication skills and coping strategies. Breathing and grounding, I repeatedly employed more than one of my lessons to date tonight.
Yet, I can’t relieve myself of the imagery haunting my psyche.
On break, we students engaged in a discussion about racism that left me feeling sad, sorry and a little bit wistful for the past, or at least the past as I thought it once was. Along with my once unwavering teen-aged hope for more love and peace in the world, I was probably wrong about the past being the way I remember it, too.
Whatever, I wondered, in listening to the shared story, would possess a grade two or three student, of Asian descent to extend her arm against that of a black classmate declaring the girl “browner than me?”
The black girl cried “racism” and the teacher, not knowing exactly what to do, intervened.
She held out her arm alongside the arms of the two children, joining the three of them together, and said, “Look at our three arms together – this is the color of human.”
The color of human.
Do you suppose we may ever grasp this concept enough to fully live it out loud… or am I still living in teen-aged dream land where humans and their need to classify one another will never cease… Guilty of dreaming the past a better place while hoping the future might prove even better is just one of my own multiple human flaws.
As new cultures reach our North American shores to live among our First Nations peoples all alongside one another with those of us residing here alongside all of them, might we all be dreaming of something we can never hope to achieve because the differences instead of the similarities will still exist, pointed out by babes who have been programmed to classify one another before they are even teenagers themselves. Labeling one another as greater or lesser by degrees of “shades of color,” by declaring a greater worthiness based on illusory comparisons that are, themselves, evidence of the ignorance so many have struggled against for so long and many still struggle against daily.
No matter how many laws are created to prevent “racism” – no matter how silenced humans may be in public – if the children are taught to cite differences even as they, themselves, are different, too, will we ever reach the point of simply accepting one another just as we are.
The color of human.
Staying to the end of the class was challenging for me, it usually is, I want to flee weekly because I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and anything involving any sort of emotional triggering is my nemesis. I wanted to cry about this, it left me feeling teary and I wanted to cry out against other matters where humans plunder one another’s fragility daily. And I wanted to say to everyone in the world, “I’m so sorry.“
But I don’t know who to say it to, exactly, or what exactly I would be apologizing for.
Still, I am so sorry.
(c) Aurora Morealist
(photo credit: Wikipedia)