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I didn’t always hate Christmas. Christmas was probably the one time of the year when Anne and Des didn’t argue or want to rip their heads off. They feigned happiness, but I didn’t mind it. I would have rather them pretend to be happy, then have them constantly argue over the simplest of things. Even if they were just pretending, and even though I knew they were lying when they said “this year is going to be better, we promise.” I preferred that a thousands times over staying up all night not being able to sleep because of how loud my parents were arguing. I preferred feigned happiness over bottles of liquor being thrown across the room by them. I preferred that over the countless of times my mom left me and my dad.
More than anything, most of my Christmases were filled with disappointments and regrets. The lack of fighting from my parents were almost always the only good things about them. I think it’s rather selfish of me to say that every single one of my Christmases were disappointing, because maybe the ones when I was a baby were alright. Those Christmases are just too far back for me to remember though. The ones that I can remember however, those were not pleasant at all.
~*~
It was 8 pm and I couldn’t sleep. Christmas was tomorrow and I was just so excited to see all the presents Santa had got me. I know I was going to get a lot of presents because I was a really good boy this year. My teacher told me that I was the brightest six year old she ever met. I heard some noise coming from downstairs so I cautiously got up from bed, wrapped my blue blankie around myself and walked downstairs. At first I thought I was dreaming, but I knew it wasn’t just me imagining it; Santa was putting all my presents under the Christmas tree. I saw that he put a big present wrapped with blue wrapping paper with snowmen on it under the Christmas tree. I was hoping that was the red bicycle I had asked Santa for in the letter I wrote to him. I only asked for the things that I really, really wanted the most. My daddy said he was proud of me for only asking for a couple things.
I was so excited that I started jumping up and down and I tripped down the stairs. Luckily there was only one step. I looked up and Santa was walking towards me, eating one of the cookies mommy and I had baked for him.
“Ho Ho Ho, are you alright there little boy?” Santa had asked me, offering his big hand for me to hold.
He was so big and magical looking, I couldn’t even look at him in the eyes. “Thank you.” I said to Santa piking up my blue blankie from the floor.
“No problem little Harry! I know you’ve been a good little boy this year so I have many presents for you.” Santa said to me a with loud chuckle.
“How… how do you my name?”
“Well, I’m Santa Clause! Of course I’m supposed to know your name.” (I’m your father.)
Did I hear that right? Santa couldn’t be my father because that means my mom would have been Mrs. Clause and she looks nothing like her! Not only that, but daddy lived here with me, not in the North Pole with a bunch of elves. I finally look at Santa’s eyes that remind me so much of my daddy and I asked,
“Are you really Santa? Is Santa real?”
“Ho Ho Ho! Of course I’m really Santa! I’m standing right in front of you little boy. Of course I’m real.” (I’m your father and Santa is not real.)
“You’re a liar!” I had screamed at Santa- I mean at my daddy- and I ran up the stairs up to my room. Santa was never real. They had lied to me.
~*~
It took me awhile before I talked to my parents again. I was just so devastated over the loss of that innocent hope. That there was someone who for only one day, could make things so much better for so many people. These days I realized that I mourning over the loss of the ideals that came with Santa. How he could bring someone their wish, even if it was only once a year. That there was someone who could make everyone smile even just for a day. I wouldn’t have said it quite like that at that age, but it was along those lines.
The fact that it was parents who had lied to me made the situation even more difficult to bypass. It was hard on me because your parents were the people who would never lie to you. They were never to put such ideas in a small child’s head. It was harder on them because they had to put up with me for weeks after. I just never looked at them the same. Especially because I started asking about the tooth fairy, the Easter bunny, all the fictional characters that they had read to me about. I lost all of my innocence at such a young age, and I will never forgive them for that.
It was hard for them to gain back my trust, and I never trusted them so blindly after that.
~*~
The last Christmas we spent as a family- well a very fucked up family that is- was when I was eleven years old. That year had been really hard, financially wise, for my parents. My mum got fired from her job because she went into work intoxicated. Des was the only one who was working, but the money he earned wasn’t even enough to pay for the monthly rent. Even though Des had to manage working two jobs to pay off the rent, he still saved up money on the side for Christmas presents.
“Dad, where’s mum? It’s Christmas eve, she should be here celebrating it with us.”
“She’s probably out buying some more Christmas presents for you Harry. You know her, always leaving things until last minute.” (I actually don’t know where is and I’m worried about her.) Des said with a bitter laugh.
As fate has it, right after he said that, my mum had walked in the house. She smelled of cheap wine and her eyes were all red. Even at my age it was easy to tell that she was pissed drunk, and not so surprising, high as a kite. She wasn’t walking in with a bunch of gifts, but she had taken the gift money earlier.
“Anne, where are the presents?” my dad asked after sending me into the living room to play.
“I knew I forgot something,” she said, laughing like it was funny. (I used the money on booze and some coke.)
“Anne, this isn’t fucking funny. You have a son to think about here. Christmas is about him for us, Not about you shooting up and blowing all our money.”
“Don’t yell at me. It’s too late now anyway. The money’s gone and all the stores are closed. What do you want me to do about it?”
“I don’t fucking care, as long as you fix it. It’s your problem. You have a son that is going to be incredibly disappointed in you. Not only is he going to get no fucking presents for Christmas, but he isn’t going to get a proper Christmas dinner either. You know we can’t afford to go to either of our parents this year. We agreed on –“
That’s when I decided to go up in my room. They wouldn’t stop until someone left or something was broken. Same thing every other night, why not tonight? So much for the Christmas season.
It was closer to twelve, when my mom came into my room. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep through all the yelling, so my mom found me playing with some toy cars. One of the only toys I had.
Her face was tear-stained and her hands were shaking. I think it was caused by mix of the fight and coming down from her high. She looked a right mess.
“Hey baby,” she said softly.
“Go away mom,” I said without looking at her. “You ruined Christmas, just like dad said.”
My mom looked hurt, but she just went on.
“I want to make this up to you.” She wasn’t lying so I actually turned and looked at her.
“This is a watch; it was your grand-fathers.” She passed me a box.
I opened it to find an amazing looking watch. It was square with a leather wrist strap. It was made of metal, gold colored You could see through it to the gears inside. It was a lovely piece.
“I want you to take care of it. It is very expensive.”
“I will mom, I love it. Thank you.”
“Remember Harry, I love you, no matter how badly I mess things up alright?
“I love you too mom.”
It was one of the few conversations I had with my mom, that she stayed truly honest throughout the whole thing.
I laid the watch, in its box, on my bedside table. I snuggled into bed for a good long sleep after that night’s dramatic adventure.
~*~
The next few days were filled with my parents fighting incessantly about bills or this or that, just nitpicking between the two. It was incredibly tiresome.
~*~
When I turned sixteen, I just down right stopped celebrating Christmas. Well my dad still put up the tree every year and he still bought me some presents, but I just didn’t really acknowledge it. That Christmas some of my friends were throwing an ‘anti-Christmas’ party and as lame as that did sound, I’d rather spend Christmas with them than my dad. Des is a great, and I love him, but he just tries too hard to make everything seem okay when in reality things are not okay. We both know things aren’t okay. They stopped being okay ever since I was six years old. I sometimes think it’s my fault that everything just went bad. If I wouldn’t of made a big deal about my parents lying to me about Santa, then maybe things would of ended up better. But now it’s too late and we’re just left again with desperation and regret.
~*~
It was Christmas eve and I was beginning to get tired of re-watching the Christmas movies and listening to him sing Christmas songs. It made me sick. How so many things could be so bad, yet on Christmas for one day, people act as if everything’s okay. Just for one day people pretend like they didn’t have many bills to pay or other more important things to worry about. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I walked up to my room grabbed my jacket and sent out a quick text to Niall, telling him that I’ll definitely be going to his party. I walked downstairs and began to open the door when my dad called for me,
“Harry where are you going? You’re not just going to leave me here alone, right? It’s Christmas!” Des said to me. I could hear the sadness dripping out of each word he uttered but that wasn’t even enough to make me stay.
“It’s Christmas eve dad, and I have a party to go to.” I said to him. Ignoring my conscious telling me that what I was doing was wrong.
“Harry just please stay. I know things haven’t been the best lately…” Again my conscious was telling me how much of a horrible person I was being.
“No dad things have been horrible lately! You can’t just keep pretending as if everything is alright dad! You don’t even try to talk to me! You just hide in your feelings and cry in the night!” I screamed at him.
“I don’t… I don’t cry at night Harry.” (I do. You’re right.)
“Don’t lie to me. Don’t you think I hear you? I hear you every single night dad. You’re not the only one who’s fucking hurting.” Fuck my conscious. I don’t want to be here anymore.
“Harry do not talk to me like that. You think you’re all grown now and that you can do whatever you want without getting punished for it? Well you can’t Harry. You can’t just leave me on Christmas Eve to hang out with your fucking horrible excuse of friends. You’re not going to that party.” He retorted back to me.
I’ve never heard him get so angry with me like that. It almost made me feel bad about what I was about to do next.
“Yes I am leaving. Merry fucking Christmas.” I said walking outside of our house into the cold streets.
“Harry, I need you, please,” He said. I whipped around, I knew how cruel I was being, but at this point my conscience just gave up on me. It knew, as I did, that there would be no going back at this point.
“Don’t you think I needed you, dad,” and I left.
I heard him calling my name but I didn’t turn back. I just kept on walking.
~*~
I don’t think Des ever really forgave me for that night. It was around then that I started staying away from home. I think that he resents me a little bit for the fact that I can escape out lives a bit, either by getting piss drunk, high as a kite, or getting fucked senseless. Those are only a few of my Christmases, all the others are just as bad, some are better; at least I like to think so. I really hate the fact that I despise this holiday. But I do love fact that I can get drunk. I like drinking. I’m doing that right now…