Around the Tree in 30 Years

Our shrine to family and memory and love. We’re going to need a bigger tree before long, and I hope to be there for it.

It’s been enough to get me believing in God again. Long story, don’t worry, you’re safe from it. Just know it wasn’t enough for me to survive prostate cancer in 2018 to bring me home. 

It was coming to understand I had everything most people never get so much as a taste of. As someone who grew up in a dysfunctional situation, to have a wife of several decades and smart, attractive grown children who love me is a Christmas gift for the ages. I’ve watched too many people pass away in the last five years or so who never knew this, some whom could be said deserved this more than I did. 

This is what happened, though. That line from that Talking Heads song, “And you may ask yourself, ‘Well, how did I get here?’” means more to me than it ever could to the songwriter.

And to think I could have been one of them. I actually fought with my wife over having children before doing the smartest thing I ever did and gave in. I’d bought into that popular mindset that children were a smelly, messy nuisance and a hindrance to the Best Life. Of the many metaphorical dumpster fires from which I have been delivered, this most hateful stupidity was the biggest one.

That people would have such an contemptuous and contemptible attitude towards helpless little people who could be raised into even better grown people should tell you how far we’ve fallen as a culture. As in, it’s worse than you’ve imagined.

The miracles keep piling up. My last post was about Christmas with my wife and no children, because we thought they’d be gone. My son, ever practical, decided to use the holidays to catch up on the rest he misses the rest of the year working. My daughter shows up around 10:30 last night and said when she approached the interstate, she was going north—but decided to go south instead, and make the three hour trip because it felt like the thing to do. She hadn’t packed clothes or gifts and that made it all the more special. She brought everything we wanted. 

We didn’t blast the music or stay up too late as we usually do. The band was all together, though. For me, that’s the gift. We don’t all have to be in the same room talking. It occurs to me maybe that’s why they like hanging out at mom and dad’s place. If you’re sleeping, we let you sleep. If you feel like lying on the sofa and watching TV under the blanket while Mom cooks downstairs and Dad writes a blogpost in his office, well, everyone’s got something to do. 

Whatever we’re doing, we’re doing it under one roof. Our roof. The goofy socks and pajama bottoms I receive are a lovely bonus, but not necessary. My heart is full.

Guardians of the Gifts.

A couple of characters from upstairs were brought down to the party. Everyone seemed to get along.

“Wooo, what a party!”

So very sweet and so very hard to let go. I mustn’t misuse the memory, though. It’s time to get inspired and get moving forward. This could be a very good New Year ahead—but only if we want it badly enough. 

This is true whether your Christmas was like mine this year, or like mine 30 years ago, five and a half months before I met my wife, when it was just me and a bottle of gin. Here’s hoping you find your guiding star.

“I wish you a hopeful Christmas/ I wish you a brave New Year/ All anguish, pain, and sadness/ Leave your heart and let your road be clear.” —Peter Sinfield’s lyrics for Greg Lake’s “I Believe in Father Christmas, and my wish for you.