My annual christmas special. Hoping to post more writing soon. But the terrors of the season are keeping me locked in a dark room this week. And, Santa! you better stay away – I’m American! I got a gun! Don’t tread on my chimney iffen ya know what’s good fer ya! We don’t need no Arctic immigrants around here!
I hate christmas. I have always hated christmas; yes always, since I can remember anything at all, I remember hating christmas.
My mother was a single parent (father having left when I was 2). She always worked christmas (she was a nurse), she usually worked double shifts on christmas – overtime at holiday pay rate. So she was never home for christmas. That left me to the tender care of my 2 older sisters – who basically hated me. (With one, the estrangement was never repaired.)
My mother would usually prepare christmas ahead of time – chicken sandwiches, canned ravioli or beans, canned string beans – sitting in pots on the stove waiting to be heated, yum yum. For dessert, those prepared sugary jelly pies one got at the corner-store. Of course, for the first few years, I got little of it – my sisters were voracious eaters and didn’t…
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