I’ve always been fairly indifferent towards the holidays, the veneer of American Capitalism was abundant, opaque; there was no magic here. Yes we talk about togetherness, or family, but primarily things are centered around this magical man bringing presents to the family. My sister and I realized fairly early that Santa wasn’t real, so we would figure out what our presents were by snooping in the closet.
I don’t know how many years my parents and I (a child) perpetuated this illusion. Pretending we were dumb so my parents could continue to pretend. I suppose it continues today when I get a card with some money inside. It doesn’t matter much when you don’t talk to me in over six months.
I have neglectful parents, and that is the pain I carry with me. The holidays amplify it, no matter what I try to do. And I’m sure the pain that you carry is amplified as well. The holidays are weird, and maybe that’s all I’m trying to say.