12.28.23 - All I want for Christmas is a time machine
Was it just me or did Christmas this year feel different?
Christmas this year felt different.
As a kid, the holidays was a magical stretch of time. My dad would buy a giant tree my sister and I would decorate together under Mariah Carey’s spell. By the fireplace we never use, my mom and I would set up our Christmas Village figurines, complete with fake snow and fairy lights beneath our hanging stockings waiting for Santa’s treats; my stocking has always been obnoxiously larger than the others — the perks of being the baby. My brother would OD on egg nog as National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation played on loop with Home Alone. At night, we’d all curl up on my parents’ bed and watch an action movie. The house smelled of sorrel and pineapple glazed ham — my mom slaved in the kitchen, my sister and I sous-chefing beside her until her back turned and we’d shuffle away silently, my dad and brother sunk into the couches entranced by football. As kids, Christmas was our Super Bowl. My Santa list was long and thorough and drafted as soon as the leaves started to turn.
My siblings and I kept the Santa fantasy alive for dumb long. My older brother and sister colluded to protect my childhood, having me believe the wintery creaks of the house were reindeer on the roof and that Santa’s handwriting was not my mom’s chicken scratch. On Christmas morning, I’d wake up to the sounds of Christina Aguilera mid-vocal run and the sight of wrapping paper thrown about in the living room — my brother would be up for hours at that point playing the video game Santa just got him. By Christmas dinner, our house would be packed with people — aunties and uncles I couldn’t name, kids running around everywhere, several different games happening at once. I’d eat my belly so full I’d nearly pass out and miss Taboo.
As we’ve gotten older, as we’ve gotten married, as we’ve had kids, and as we’ve moved out of our childhood homes, with each notch of adulthood, the familiarity of the holidays, it’s seemingly impenetrable magic gets chipped away little by little by our realities. It’s not as gloomy as that sounds, it’s just…different.
Firstly, our family has grown significantly. Our unit of five this year doubled to 10 — we’ve got spouses, a kid, and adopted family. There’s more laughs, more conversations, and more games; but what used to feel very insular and intimate has become more inclusive and just…different. With more people, our unit of five is no longer. Where I used to be sat in the middle of my parents’ bed on movie night — my mom and dad, brother and sister sprawled around me — I now find my introverted self running to my bedroom for a lil solo time and a bit of respite from all the people and stimulation. The growing family is a beautiful thing — more laughs and more love — the meaning of life. But the relic of who my family used to be feels buried beneath, lost in childhood and gone forever.
Where we used to be apart of building the Christmas atmosphere at home, now we fly-in to one ready-made by our parents. My dad gets a tree the day before my nephew arrives, my mom decorates it dolo since none of us are home to help. She lines the living room with poinsettias and stocks the fridge with egg nog. Our only job: come home. It’s our parents’ only ask. That and connect to the Sonos so Nat King Cole can serenade our nights, fix the remote, check the printer, and help your mom with her iCloud account while you’re at it. We’re the technology handymen who’ve come to breathe life into the empty nests.
Our parents and us grown ass adult kids pass each other on our way to and from the kitchen. Being an adult kid is the ultimate privilege — we play make believe as we get a week vacation with free accommodation and free food and walk cozy, familiar hallways trying to will back that past life where our only responsibility was getting good grades. The hack is we get to forget our adult worries for a few days while also hanging onto our adulthood when it benefits us most. Where we used to move as a family following orders from the parents, us kids now get to do our own thing. We disappear for walks to “get some steps in”, hoping to ward off any strange smells from our clothes before we come back in the house; we hold onto our adult pacifiers, while tiptoeing around our childhood homes like naughty schoolkids. Where we used to be curled up on the couch together in the days leading up to Christmas, us kids are now in the city at holiday parties, leaving the grandparents at home to babysit and coming home too lit to sustain a family movie night.
I can sometimes see the longing in my parents’ eyes. The happiness that we’re all home and the longing for us to not ever leave. Man, the whiplash! Overnight, their typically quiet empty nest is bustling with activity. It’s reminiscent of a time when their purpose was self-evident and their opinions were king. Their Christmas lists are empty because our presence is the only thing they truly want — we’re a prime distraction from their chilling introspection into what life looks like now when your kids need nothing from you but intangibles like love and support. The grandkids are the keepers of hope; their obsession with them is just an eager and harmless longing to feel needed.
We have an actual kid in our family now so Santa still visits our house. We all conspire to protect his Christmas wonder and do our best to capture the best bits of Christmases past. The holidays belong to him now actually and I’m okay with that — the grandparents get someone to spoil, we aunties get someone to play with and hand back. Now we shop with purpose — the hope of a smile from his lil face, the anticipation of whose present he’ll play with most. Putting together my Christmas list this year was actually tedious. I’m an old hag asking for a food processor and hand cream. My needs are met without Santa’s help and how utterly boring is that?
My mom still rules the kitchen but she’s grown quite weary. I’ve grown appreciation for the backbreaking work of feeding the masses over the holidays and again wonder how she’s done it and lived to tell the tale. After decades of leading the charge, I get it. She’s tired. Us sous-chefs have stepped it up more than ever — filling in the menu, sweeping and wiping down counters, keeping a close eye on her recipes, taking notes, and asking questions where before we took that ham for granted. Should anything ever happen… — that morbid reminder of mom’s mortality. I find myself washing dishes and helping her pack up leftovers now not because I’ve been told, but because my heart is swollen with gratitude.
Never has the separation from childhood felt more palpable than during the holidays this year. We’re still our parents’ children but we’re also independent, grown ass adults who’ve been forced into designing our own lives now. Now, I have two families; this December 26, I found myself driving to PA to spend some days with my in-laws, shamelessly packing a to-go box of curry goat and rice and peas for the road. I don’t think I’ve ever even stepped outside my house on December 26; my ass and the Lazy-Boy were in silent agreement. The crestfallen look on everyone’s faces as I announced I have to leave this year and subsequently reminded everyone that we’re adults with choices and responsibilities and time’s a changing…
I’m the 34-year-old baby of the family. My presence reminds everyone how dreadfully old we’ve all become. Christmas no longer belongs to us — it belongs to my nephew and we’re simply there to keep the magic alive for him and to rest our backs and feet before January 1 when a new year, new grind enslaves us all over again. I envy my nephew and whisper to him “Never grow up, it’s the ghetto.” This time next year, Nate and I should be moved out of the city. Hell, if we’re really wilding out, a bitch might be knocked up. These are end times, the last of things, the definitive end of an era. All I wanted for Christmas was a time machine. Maybe next year…
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This was hilarious and captivating to read. Also, it perfectly captures my feelings of being an adult around the holidays.
You and your mother - truly stunning. Great piece. I concur. Since I moved from home across the country I now have to pick. I'm either back home for Christmas or Thanksgiving cause the costs are too damn high. This year I went for TG so there has been lots of alone time this Christmas so yeah all that to say I agree. It's very different 🙂