The Grinch
The 'Grinch Who Stole Christmas' came on last night and my heart hung heavy with nostalgia and regret. A gravity tugs at my chest around the holidays . A pull, that gains weight at the sight of Christmas commercials and holiday jingles, has forced me to try to untangle this knot.
The holidays in prison are strange times indeed. At best, they're nothing more than days on a calendar.At worst, they're unwelcomed, hollow reminders of life outside of these walls. The television specials, the commercials, the parades, the tree lighting ceremonies, the New Year's ball drop. All just reminders of the missing parts of life. Another chance to regret the things you once took for granted.
After coming to prison, I neither cherished the holidays nor wished them away. I had become indifferent. A position of safety: Indifference over reality. A quality that has it's roots in a time even before I was incarcerated.
But as I've learned over and over again, the problem wasn't with 'holidays'. It was a faulty perspective. A misunderstanding of purpose.
Like most of us, I've viewed holidays through a lens subtlety tinted by personal gain or loss. How fun will it be? What food will I get to eat? What gifts will I get? How much work will I have to do? How long will the drive be? Will my crazy family make it a hectic pain in the ass?
Not that I'm a sociopath, that has never enjoyed holidays. I did. I showed up and even had the occasional good time. Though, at the time, I was blind to a real appreciation for the oppritunites of the holidays. A blind spot that has since been lifted.
The phrase "It's all about family" Has been said many times, in many ways, and is undoubtedly repeated at nearly every holiday gathering. Usually as a coping mechanism to deal with the headache, hurt, or chaos, that is inevitable in a family get-together. I've heard these words often. And on occasion they've from my own lips. I thought I understood them but they were more of a meaningless mantra, to be repeated, rather than understood.
Like the broken record I've become; I've realized, in the absence of the good, the bad, and the 'family', I have come to miss it all: The terrible music, the gawdy decorations, and the long drives to an inevitable family fued (and not the cutesie Steve Harvey kind).
It's become clear that the 'bad' parts are just as important as the good and probably even more meaningful. I promise you that if I could only have the things I used to dread, I'd take em without a moments hesitation: The arguments, the drunken fueds, the crying babies, the tacky Xmas sweaters, the crowded kitchens, the kids table with two grownups hunched over a plate of burnt green bean caasrole, parking down the road, smoking outside on a tiny porch in the cold with the other degenerates lacking self-control, and the depressing realization that in a fucked up family you might be the worst one of all.
I miss every single moment. I pine for it all.
The worst part isn't that prison took these things away, but that I never realized I had them when I was free. I avoided the frustration, I overlooked the beauty... I missed the point.
So, this year, rather than change the channel when a Xmas commercial comes on TV or when someone sings a Christmas song on 'The Voice', I'm going to remember this feeling. I'm going to sit, right here, with this gravity in my chest, and god willing, I'll bring it home with me and make up for the lost time and missed oppritunities.
Even the Grinch got his chance to make things right...... I'm just waiting for mine...
So, HAPPY HOLIDAYS from the penitentiary!!!!. And take time to cherish what you have, warts and all, because none of it's guaranteed, nothing is for sure, and I promise you, you will miss it when it's gone...