Wednesday, December 28, 2005
can't pick 'em.
christmas was good, as i said. i successfully navigated being away from my family, and as my mother says, now we know we can do it. not necessarily in a big hurry to do it again. i imagined that a christmas alone would be restful, but there was so much cooking and cleaning involved. i always thought people who hated holiday stress should just slow down, but i think i underestimated how much elbow grease is involved in throwing a christmas, even a stripped down one for two people who don't care about napkin rings.
the other thing that was troubling was that christmas was all about me. i'm used to this at my parents' house, but in my house i thought it would be more . . . mutual. i mean, neither of us has a lot of money, but the monkey borders on being in serious straits--and still, presents for louella ranneth over. between his largesse and my mother's ridiculous and lavish habits, i was surrounded by mounds of tissue paper. it sounds childish to be worried about who has more gifts to open, but the disparity was pretty noticeable even though i'd tried to push my budget to compensate.
and it's uncomfortable not becuase i get more toys, but because i get more attention. my mom freaks out when i can't come home for christmas, sends boxes of chocolate and overflowing christmas stockings and A CHRISTMAS TREE VIA UPS, and the monkey's parents send him
a hickory farms gift pack.
remember in dead poet's society, when the kid gets a desk set from his cold, distant parents?
christmas ends up being a study in contrast: my relationship with my parents, for all it's weird co-dependence, is a picture of unconditional love. and the monkey's relationship with his parents is a picture of why people shouldn't have children if they're not interested in liking them. this wonderful, beautiful man--and his mother can't even be bothered to stop by when she's in new york to say hello and meet the girlfriend.
i don't want to meet them.
but i do want him to have a family. i'll know this, next christmas. that some special care and comfort is needed to ensure there are no lost boys.
i want to kick them in crotch.
the other thing that was troubling was that christmas was all about me. i'm used to this at my parents' house, but in my house i thought it would be more . . . mutual. i mean, neither of us has a lot of money, but the monkey borders on being in serious straits--and still, presents for louella ranneth over. between his largesse and my mother's ridiculous and lavish habits, i was surrounded by mounds of tissue paper. it sounds childish to be worried about who has more gifts to open, but the disparity was pretty noticeable even though i'd tried to push my budget to compensate.
and it's uncomfortable not becuase i get more toys, but because i get more attention. my mom freaks out when i can't come home for christmas, sends boxes of chocolate and overflowing christmas stockings and A CHRISTMAS TREE VIA UPS, and the monkey's parents send him
a hickory farms gift pack.
remember in dead poet's society, when the kid gets a desk set from his cold, distant parents?
christmas ends up being a study in contrast: my relationship with my parents, for all it's weird co-dependence, is a picture of unconditional love. and the monkey's relationship with his parents is a picture of why people shouldn't have children if they're not interested in liking them. this wonderful, beautiful man--and his mother can't even be bothered to stop by when she's in new york to say hello and meet the girlfriend.
i don't want to meet them.
but i do want him to have a family. i'll know this, next christmas. that some special care and comfort is needed to ensure there are no lost boys.
i want to kick them in crotch.
