It's Beginning to Feel Not Alot Like Christmas

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone. As usual, I had dinner with my uncle and his girlfriend. For some reason, things went better than in the past. That is surprising because my uncle was recently fired from his job of 15 years. Despite being concerned about what to do next, he seemed alot more at ease than usual.

One thing that helped was that we didn't talk about things we disagree about. Of course, we don't really agree on much, but there was a James Bond marathon on TV, so that held our interest. Additionally, it didn't seem like my uncle was in his usual mood of picking on me and his girlfriend, which seemed to ease my mood.

Despite things going well for Thanksgiving, or perhaps in part because of it, it just doesn't feel like the holidays. Sure, the malls have been decorated since the week before Halloween, and eggnog has made its triumphant return to the grocery store dairy cases, but it all feels like going through the motions.

The economy isn't helping matters. Right now, there is over 10% unemployment, officially, though the real percentage of unemployed is probably closer to 17%. The ones who still have jobs are holding back from spending. As a collective, the bank crisis of the last few years is teaching us to save more and rely on credit less.

To be fair, I am not really big on the holidays, anyway, since I don't have anyone to share them with. However, there is something poignant about ending each year with a familiar sense of loneliness and despair. But even that seems to be missing right now as I am filled with expectation about the prospect of being accepted to NC State. Perhaps if I am denied things will start to feel back to normal, but for now I still feel a little like an expectant father.

Have fun, and keep living life... Or some approximation thereof.

Father's Day

I was catching up on listening to podcasts today when I heard a recent Father's Day themed episode of This American Life. I had forgotten about Father's Day completely, largely due to the fact that I've never met my father. Occasionally, I think about him, and what it would be like to meet him, but the mood always passes as quickly as it arrives.

My father was originally from Sri Lanka. I've never been there, but I've seen videos and heard stories that the island is gorgeous. My parents met in Asheville, NC under what circumstances I'm not completely sure. I do know that my father didn't intend to get my mother pregnant and that he basically told my mother to choose between him or me. She chose me in a decision which I've regretted off and on for 35 years. Not to get all emo, but the pro-life movement can pretty much eat my ass. I should have been aborted and I wasn't. My father didn't want me and my mother wanted to abuse me. Sometimes, maybe even most of the time, people are better off being aborted.

I'm starting to feel really angry as I write this. At some point anger always seems to rear its head whenever I think about my father. I can't even pronounce his name properly. All I have as a remnant of his existence is an old black and white photo of him in a metal frame. He's not even smiling. I know I was an inconvenience to him, but I wish he knew how inconvenienced I've been my whole life because he chose to fuck my fat cow of a mother.

Sometimes I think about trying to find him. I don't even know if he's still alive. There are only a dozen people in the US with his last name and they are all concentrated in two locations, so it wouldn't be hard if I cared enough to try. As luck would have it, I saw a guy I believe is my cousin a few years ago on TV. He was serving as a lawyer in a case that made national headlines for about two days and he was interviewed several times. I could easily ask him if he knows what happened to my father.

Whenever I fantasize about talking to my father it never goes as I expect it too, which implies that I have some expectations which I'm apparently not fully aware. I don't think I really want a relationship with him, but I want him to know me. I want him to understand what happened to me. And as unsatisfying as I know it would be, I guess I'd like to hear him express remorse. I'm not sure what that remorse would be for, but just to hear him say, "I'm sorry you had to go through all that pain" seems like it would mean so much to me in a way that no one else can say those words.

Now I get why I don't spend very long thinking about my father at any one time... Any longer would feel too much like masochism.

Keep living life... or some approximation thereof.

The Giving of Thanks

In the off chance that you missed the interminable cavalcade of parades, Peanuts specials, Christmas music formatted radio stations, garland streamed shopping malls adorned with "95% Off" sales signs, and the smell of pine, cinnamon, poultry, and electricity induced house fires, we've officially entered the annual holiday season. As is requisite for the last several years, I indulged in Thanksgiving dinner with my uncle and his girlfriend. It should be noted that my uncle is the only Republican in my family (not including my aunt's husband, though he is only related by marriage, not blood, so he doesn't really count). Thankfully, he doesn't vote (neither does my aunt's husband, interestingly). It should also be noted that, like me, he has an annoying tendency to believe he is right about certain things and that thinking in a way other than he does is, by sheer force of logic, wrong!

It should come as no surprise, then, that I usually find myself keeping my mouth shut around dinner every year. My uncle tries to be peaceful, and so do I; his girlfriend acts as a pleasant referee, typically taking my side, if not always on the issues, at least in the understanding that my uncle's way isn't typically the only way.

This year I had to sit through a lecture about how Chris, my friend from algebra class, and I didn't do a thorough enough job when we replaced the spark plugs on my car (I didn't even mention to him about the oil in the cylinders, or the cross threaded plug). My uncle can't even commend me for taking initiative on my car, something he has chronically lectured me about for the last dozen years whenever I am forced to run to him for help when my car dies on the side of the road. But that wasn't the worst part. No, I had to sit through a lecture about how Obama is the Antichrist, and how my uncle can't believe that so many people were brainwashed into voting for a black, one term senator with "no experience"! He asked if I had voted for Obama, to which I replied, "Of course! I even contributed $250 to his campaign, and got a campaign t-shirt!" I went on to inform him that Lincoln was a one term Illinois senator before becoming President, and look how he turned out! I'll save you from my uncle's decidedly non-PC response, but when I've said that I'm not the most racially sensitive person in the world, it would be fair to say that my uncle makes me seem like one time NAACP President Kweisi Mfume (I've ALWAYS loved that guy's name, for some reason).

One thing we don't do for Thanksgiving is announce what we're thankful for this year. Chances are good we'd be thankful for things which were diametrically opposed, anyway. But, as I've listened to NPR and watched news clips online, I've been barraged by messages of thanks for everything from having a job, to having a family, to having legs! That last one came from a little girl who was skating at Rockefeller Center in New York.

My grandmother is always encouraging me to be more thankful for things. She says that it helps you to see what you have instead of fretting over the things that you don't. So, aside from having an opportunity to go to college, having a roof over my head, food in my stomach (most of the time), a car that gets me where I need to go (most of the time), and medications which keep me from attempting suicide every other Thursday, what do I have to be thankful for? I don't know... But I guess having legs seems like a good place to start!

Have fun, and keep living life... or some approximation thereof.