Xmas

As a kid, I had always looked forward to Xmas for just one reason – presents. But the older I got, the less the festive period actually meant to me. To me now, it is pretty much just another day in the year (much like my birthday and New Year's eve), except very little is open. I can understand why there are so many depressed people around that time of the year. For me, I just try to forget by having another drink. People will usually ask me what did I get for Xmas, and I would reply “I got drunk”. If there's no mistress for Christmas waiting under the tree for me, then forget it, you'll find me on the couch with a bottle of Strongbow watching one of the earlier James Bond movies.

Cynicism aside, there were Xmases that were quite memorable. I remember one night mum and dad went through the whole routine of putting a glass of port out for Santa, some cookies, water for the reindeer and even some carrots for them as well. Surprise, we'd find them all gone the next day, fantasising that the big jolly guy in the red suit did actually show up, left the presents, gobbled down all the stuff, and buggered off. Whilst I was growing up, there were always relatives around to celebrate Christmas with us. Uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents and so on. The house would be full, along with the pool, and a good time would be had by all. We could eat what we want, and there was always enough leftovers for Boxing day.

On a serious note, the family Christmases that I knew ended in 1993. Mum had cancer, and it was a surprise that she had actually made it to Xmas, seeing she had been booked in to the palliative care ward at Tamworth base hospital. They had let her out for that day, and close friends of the family came over to the house and created one of the best feasts that we had ever had. Less than four weeks later, she had passed away, not long after my sister's wedding.

Christmas wasn't the same after that. The picture you see here was taken in 1995, which turned out to be the last Xmas we ever spent at Nancy Street. My brother and his girlfriend at the time, Lisa, are in blue, whilst the gent with the Xmas hat on is my sister's husband, John, who is examining the present that I got my father (in the green shirt) that year. After Dad moved to Bathurst, I ventured down there for Xmas. But it just wasn't the same. Dad was integrated with his girlfriend's (later second wife's) family, and I honestly felt like an outsider. My sister and brother would go down in alternative years, seeing that they had other family to be with, but me, well, I didn't have any other options.

Then dad was diagnosed with cancer in 2003, and I was going through the whole process again. Christmas that year was hardly memorable at all, but it was made poignant because dad passed away in March 2004. And like mum, we had hoped that he would get better too.

Now Christmases are spent with my siblings and their families, but it really doesn't feel the same either. I feel like I should be anywhere else rather than there. I don't know the in-laws, and when I'm there I'm hardly acknowledged at all. Of course, if I had another option, I'd take it, but at the moment, I don't.