Wednesday, December 21, 2005
A Charlie Brown Christmas
Having missed going to Chicago, and the family, for Thanksgiving, I went back the week before Christmas for a visit. The reason was primarily to see my grandparents who are, admittedly, slowing up – my grandfather especially. And Grandma is taking care of my capricious, and sometimes acutely grumpy Grandfather.
My brother who lives in Chicago is wrapped up in his own world –a closeted gay relationship (to them at least). My sense is that they little understand each other. My aunt, though in her 50s, lives there, but is somewhat socially retarded and herself a bit tired of coping. Besides, she’s still the frail baby of the family in their eyes (she was very sick in her youth). My parents are in California and are extremely helpful by helping them tend to chores when they visit. But it’s me who engages them – particularly grandma – in a social way.
I love talking to them. . . these are people who immigrated from Japan to find the world at war, and interned like enemies, loosing everything they built (we whine about the Patriot Act). Yet there exists not a jaded bone in their body. “If it wasn’t for the war and being interned, I would never have met your grandfather and never know you.”
They needed help putting up the Christmas tree. It’s artificial and older than I am (I’m now 30). I remember going to their house during Christmas Eve and being so excited about the food, gifts, and company. I also remember that tree. It seemed so large. . . I’m taller than it now. I remember it’s blinking strands of lights, tons of gold garland, the 1950s ornaments, and ones Grandma made out of sequins and pins. It was totally different than the ones my parents put up.
Pulling it out of the box, it seemed in bad shape. The branches had flattened over time. I put it up, nonetheless, branch by pathetic branch. Wouldn’t you know, after several strands of lights, garland, and all those same old home-made and old ceramic ornaments, it brought me back to the tree my gifts were under when I was five. It was actually really nice.
My brother who lives in Chicago is wrapped up in his own world –a closeted gay relationship (to them at least). My sense is that they little understand each other. My aunt, though in her 50s, lives there, but is somewhat socially retarded and herself a bit tired of coping. Besides, she’s still the frail baby of the family in their eyes (she was very sick in her youth). My parents are in California and are extremely helpful by helping them tend to chores when they visit. But it’s me who engages them – particularly grandma – in a social way.
I love talking to them. . . these are people who immigrated from Japan to find the world at war, and interned like enemies, loosing everything they built (we whine about the Patriot Act). Yet there exists not a jaded bone in their body. “If it wasn’t for the war and being interned, I would never have met your grandfather and never know you.”
They needed help putting up the Christmas tree. It’s artificial and older than I am (I’m now 30). I remember going to their house during Christmas Eve and being so excited about the food, gifts, and company. I also remember that tree. It seemed so large. . . I’m taller than it now. I remember it’s blinking strands of lights, tons of gold garland, the 1950s ornaments, and ones Grandma made out of sequins and pins. It was totally different than the ones my parents put up.
Pulling it out of the box, it seemed in bad shape. The branches had flattened over time. I put it up, nonetheless, branch by pathetic branch. Wouldn’t you know, after several strands of lights, garland, and all those same old home-made and old ceramic ornaments, it brought me back to the tree my gifts were under when I was five. It was actually really nice.
# posted by otas : 11:50 AM
