Dysfunction rears its Yuletide head

I am not a fan of Christmas by any stretch of the imagination. Oh, sure, I used to love it when I was a kid, but that was mostly because I liked getting the presents. I still remember me and my brother going absolutely insane and shrieking and jumping up and down with joy when we opened up a present to find a Commodore 64 inside. It was even better than the year that I got Castle Greyskull and my brother got Snake Mountain. But now? It just isn’t the same.

It seems that the presents were just a distraction from the fact that family had to actually gather together for the occasion. Relatives twice your age act like someone half your age, so-and-so refuses to go to any gathering that has someone else in the family attending, other relatives changing for the worse over the years.

It’s sad to say, but I think my parents are some of the more normal and least irritating people on my dad’s side of the family, which is saying something since they’ve become dittoheads since moving to Florida. Okay, they’re the most normal with the exception of my grandmother, who I admittedly nearly canonize or at the very least beatify. My computer geek cousin is cool, but it’s downright frightening how Jesus Freaky my female cousins have gotten.

There’s a big difference between being Christian and being a Scary Christian®. Christians follow the teachings of Jesus Christ and are big on the loving thy neighbor and helping the poor and disadvantaged. Scary Christians® tend to ignore the Gospels and the teachings of Jesus Christ and tend to use the Bible as a way to justify their predjudices and flaunt their own bigotry by saying it’s in the Bible. It took every ounce of willpower I had to stay silent when one of my cousins started talking about how her 9 month old daughter took to pretty much anyone that was male and then jokingly said, “Well, good thing she takes immediately to men and not women!” Seriously, being so concerned about the sexuality of your 9 month old daughter that you’re making jokes about it says a lot more aboout you than it does about her.

Oh, my mom’s side of the family isn’t better. Where my dad’s side of the family has homophobia, my mom’s side of the family has the racism, which is odd because the only black relatives I have are on that side of the family. That said, they hide it so much better than my dad’s side of the family. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Other than the gathering part of the holidays I’m not a fan of, I really don’t like the gift giving anymore. Because now that I’m an adult and have a full time job, I see any gifts I get as a requirement that I reciprocate, and it’s really hard to shop for someone so different from you. My mom’s so difficult to shop for because she’s got everything she needs and all she likes is angel tchotchkes and she doesn’t have any more room for them, so cluttering the house are they. And while I know my brother pretty well, I have no idea what to get his wife. She’s cool, but I know so little about her interests.

Beyond the gift reciprocity, I just don’t like people buying me stuff anymore. I like being able to pay for things myself. It goes with the entire being of independent means things. I don’t like relying on other people on my happiness. And yes, tthings do make me happy, they just aren’t the only things that make me happy.

Post title taken from a poem by Paul Gilmartin.