Christmas Coal

I like Christmas. I like getting things and enjoy giving them as well. The holiday energy isn’t lost, on me. Despite any internal tendencies to become rather grinch-ish. There’s lots of lights and lot’s of money being spent (I have a business background, and I’m shameful spender, this holiday makes sense to me). Even the month itself is great. It has the best snow, large fluffy flakes, complete with a slow descend. December has the most smiles and the most excitement, in all of winter. January and February on the other hand, bring gray skies, icy snow, and harbor the dreaded “calendar row” (my term for boring days of charted dullness). Until spring finally arrives, the best season of all. In any case, I vote “nay” on having Christmas bi-yearly or anything less. I get it, when people talk of ad nuaseum family visits. But I avoid that problem.

When I was six years old, I was just like any other little guy this time of year. I was looking forward to PRESENTS. The concept of Christmas wasn’t something I was aware of, much less important to me. I just did what little boys do. When no one was looking. For all intensive purposes I was greatly deserving, on an annual basis, to be rewarded each Christmas, for my visible behavior. Thank you Santa, now turn around please, and look the other way.

I don’t intend on analyzing my childhood behavior for you, rather I aspire to paint a picture of Christmas morning. I had a dad who enjoyed asserting himself as the gift giving benefactor, next to the tree. I had a mom who would sneak early Christmas presents and an older sister who did her best to provide separation and drama to the event. Despite growing up in a disconnected household, I could always say I came from a generous assembly of residents. Lot’s of presents for all!!!

On Christmas Eve, I would go to bed unable to control my excitement just likes thousands of other fortunate kids. Santa isn’t aware of my crimes, tomorrow will be grand! The sooner I sleep the sooner I un-wrap. It didn’t take long for me to realize that falling asleep under these conditions wasn’t possible, so I did the only thing any logical six year would do. I convinced myself of imminent disappointment. Tomorrow morning nothing will happen, no presents are given. Forget it. None whatsoever. My ruse works and I fall asleep, under the impression that I will be exchanging households in the coming New Year. Whatever works I suppose.

I wake up and quickly remind myself that the bad dreams I had the night before were a result of my own doing, my medium to fall asleep. Off to the tree I go.

“Wake up, Wake up!”
“We got shit to do!” (I say something similar to that effect)

Everybody takes their positions. My dad kneels down by the tree. My mom (use to be a photographer) gets her camera, and positions herself at a 45 degree angle. My sister yells about something and plays with the dogs.

I have to wait for her and it pisses me off.

Eventually the festivities begin.

My dad hands out a present to my sister. She opens it and cheers. Flash, Click. My mom takes a picture. My dad then hands a present to my mom. It’s from one of our dogs. No pictures are taken. My dad looks at me, and hands out another present, to my sister. It’s from different dog, followed by another picture. Flash, Click. My dad looks at me again, and gives a present, to another dog.

“Quit fucking with me old man!”

I yell with all the conviction my little lungs could offer. (I may have edited that message before it was actually delivered.)

Somebody spills coffee or something and all activities are put on hold.

“Dammit! I’ll take care of it.”
We have presents to open. (If I don’t take control of the situation, it could an hour or more before I get my presents)

My Dad gets back under the tree and gives another present to my mom.
Apparently, it’s from me, and she thanks me for it.

“No Problem”

O.k. O.k. Let’s keep moving here.

The phone rings.

(Oh, bloody hell)

Rolligun, come say merry Christmas to your grandmother.

“No” (I am not ready to speak to anyone yet)

“Get OVER HERE!!!”

“Fine”

“But when I’m done I better be unwrapping something”

I delicately handle the holiday conversation with my grandma. I engineer a perfect balance between courtesy and expedience. It’s not an easy thing to do.

Alright, back to the tree. But first, I unplug the phone.

Everyone gets back into position. All ready to go. Then my mom decides she needs a different camera. My sister gets back up and starts playing with the dogs and her presents.

I wait, again.

I think about jumping out the window.

(Little did I know this training would pay off in the Army one day)

Finally!! Festivities resume.

For all those concerned, I have been an excellent example of a “big boy” all year long. I didn’t cry about anything. I didn’t destroy any of our own property. Didn’t run away once. Not one teacher or baby sitter had cried to date. Absolutely perfect. I am ready to receive.

My dad looks at me. I look at him. He grabs a present. I look at the present. He looks at me. He’s grinning. I’m not.

Here you go Rolligun.

(‘bout fucking time)

My mom changes angles and gets in position.

The present is small, but that is o.k. It’s heavy.

I unwrap this gift with ferocity of a wild dog, although I don’t eat the paper.

In my hands is a small, odd shaped and chalky object. It’s black.

And it’s a Lump of coal.

“…From Santa, To Rolligun”

“What the fuck is this?!!!”

Flash. Click.

My dad is grinning, my mom is changing film and my sister has taken it upon herself to look for more presents.

The dogs sit next to me, and they aren’t laughing either.

That’s it! I am putting plan B into effect.

January 1’st, I’m moving out. Not far, just down the street. I will also change all future philosophies on obedience. I think I will choose the “Whitaker” household. There are no other children, they’re old and move slowly. They also have a dog. It will make for a fine home, for me.

Afterthought~~

I was warned about this possibility, but I couldn’t imagine my dad would actually materialize such a cruelty.

I will always remember how much he enjoyed the event. At my delicate expense.

I never actually moved out. My parents did redeem themselves.

Also, the phone didn’t ring for the rest of the day. Woops.

~Rolligun

*Merry Christmas*