Inside Gigi's World

Boy, hear we are. The most wonderful time of the year.

Or so I’ve been told.

I looked at the calendar today.

Did you know today is December 9th?

16 more days until Christmas.

I thought I was doing pretty good, keeping up with everything Christmas.

I also thought we were in November still so clearly I’m not doing well at all.

Every year I say I am going to do better, start earlier, get more into the spirit. But the older the kids get, the more I have to wonder where we find that special Christmas magic.

Nowadays, more and more, it seems to be more about the price tag and less about the experiences for people. Ask any child you know, at any age. Most of them will ask Santa for a new iPhone.

When I was 6, I wanted snow to build forts . I wanted a barbie. I wanted to not get coal in my stocking. And I wanted my brothers home.

One year, when I was about 7, I really started to get into my own style of music. I wanted TLC’s debut album on cassette. I was going to be so bad ass to finally have it. If only Santa would listen. I was going to play it in my Walkman because if my parents heard me listening to it, they would have absolutely taken that cassette, along with my Walkman and I would have never seen them again.

Christmas morning came and I was so excited. The first spot I hit was my stocking , that by today’s standards, looked like an ugly sweater. Coal. Fucking Coal. Not even chocolate coal. But the kind of coal that has been contributing to greenhouse gas emissions.

I didn’t even know what the hell I did but underneath that pile of coal was a rectangular wrapped shape. I dumped that stocking upside down and all that shitty coal came crashing out on to the floor. As I got shrilled at for making a mess on the floor, I caught the wrapped package in my hand and started shaking it.

This was it.

I knew it.

I was going to be the most bad ass kid on the street.

Santa listened!

As I unwrapped that little package, thinking I hit the jackpot, in my hands I held….

The Beatles, “Rubber Soul” cassette.

Me: What is this?

Dad: You love The Beatles!

Me: No I don’t. I love TLC

Dad: Then give me that cassette, I’ll listen to it.

Dad puts his hand out as to take the cassette, like I won’t call his bluff.

Me: Fine. I wanted TLC anyways.

Well Merry Christmas to me and a big middle finger to you Santa Claus.

In fairness to Santa and my parents, I did love The Beatles. I still do. I am also pretty sure that I eventually took it back. But it was the principle. What was I trying to be good for? Santa didn’t even bring me the one thing I wanted. If Santa watched everything and knew everything, then how the hell did he confuse 4 white, middle aged British men for 3 super fly, black women who wore neon baggy jeans and condoms on the clothes? Lame.

I think mishaps make the funniest memories as adults. Also the “Ah-Ha” moments when we realized our parents made 10 bucks an hour and they were the ones that worked 10 hours to get us those shitty sneakers that we insisted we needed to decide we didn’t like them anymore.

Then when you become a parent, Christmas takes on a whole new realm.

You feel like you wish you could do more. The anxiety of trying to get that one impossible to find item. Working extra hours. Driving yourself crazy. The look on Christmas morning though, when the cookies were gone and the carrots nibbled.

My parents used to feed them to my guinea pig, Fluffy, so they had little teeth marks in them.

The best was having Christmas in the 80s. Those were the best years. The hair and outfits were great. Gram and Grandpa always had to have their picture take in front of the damn tree that my mother covered with so much tinsel, you couldn’t even see the tree. I’d try to help her put it on every year and I’d get so jazzed to do it. After 3 strands, she’d tell me I was doing it wrong and I was making a mess. Then she would just do it herself. 1980s’ Christmas was also getting Alf underpants and pulling your skirt up over your head so you could show everyone.

Christmas meant getting to spend time with family. It was getting my hair done with aqua not by my cousins. It was the older kids taking off to “go for a walk” and coming back fried out of their minds. It was cheesy potatoes and macaroni and cheese that you now miss as an adult since the last year you had it.

I’m not ready for Christmas. I never am. But I try to do the best I can. Hope everyone else out there is surviving too! Happy Holiday season everyone! May the odds be ever in your favor.