Christmas, etc. . . .

It’s been a long and comfortable “Christmas” though the season is not gone – at least not until I take down the lights and disassemble the tree.  It used to be I’d roll it out the door – we had a live one for a few seasons, and I built a roll-around planter to take it in the yard and roll it into the house for Christmas.

All and all it was a ‘good’ Christmas I reckon, as far as Christmas’s go – but it was also our First “All Adult Christmas” in over twenty-five years – more if you count my wife, who has been raising children since she was fourteen.   But all the grandkids were gone – part of having a ‘split’ family – not just ours, but ALL of ours – the kids (one is thirty-one) all have ‘split families’ – their own or the ones they came from.  It seems to be quite a common phenomena.

But that’s one thing I’ve noticed – and it’s both good for the kids and bad for them – the ‘split’ thing.  The ‘split’ Christmas, birthdays, and occasions.  They get to have it good sometimes (most times, actually!) – for they get Christmas split up into several ‘Christmases’ throughout the year – same with their birthdays – the diseparate sets of parents buying and/or doing something for them – one always seeming to want to ‘outdo’ the other – though the father’s in most of these instances are strapped for cash.  The courts inevitably award custody to their mothers (and in one case the mother who had abandoned her children for over a year) – so that the father can go to work and pay child support for them – because the father can’t take care of them because he’s too busy working . . . trying to earn that child support – which makes him ‘unavailable’ to be a parent . . . never mind if the momma is working (or drawing welfare in some of the cases – not ours.)

Ah, well . . . family issues.  Every family’s gotta have ’em – or else they wouldn’t be family – they’d be friends.  Friends are much better.  You can pick and chose ’em at will.  (Where is Will, anyway? . . . haven’t seen him around here in awhile . . .)

We got a judge for Christmas, ha ha!  Right after getting out of that bench warrant that was issued on us – (that’s still not over, and it’s gonna cost me a hundred twenty dollars – or at least that’s what the county prosecutor said . . . grease under the table?  I think not: this is gonna be taking place in a courtroom – just ‘grease’ of a different kind – one to keep the county wheels in motion, avoiding them a trial – and like the county prosecutor said: We don’t want you in our jail.  Really.  Please.  Because I was all too willing to go – after all, as I pointed out to him (or her, read into it what you will): I am a loony.  I require a lot of medication.  I am a disabled Marine.  I would be kept in a hospital prison near here – right in my own hometown.  It’d be like living right next door sometimes!  And all of my friends could come and visit me . . .

“I don’t know about that,” she/he went on to say, “Most of the folks in jail just want out . . . they’ll do anything – .”

“Ah, but,” I pointed out (I always have a bad case of the buts), “There’s a big difference between walking in voluntarily – and being dragged in.”

She/he thought for a moment, then solemnly agreed: it might make a difference.  But it would probably be for the best – both for the county and the state – if I didn’t go there.  After all: what would they want a man like that in a prison just like me?  (Little confusing DID joke in there; I doubt you’re gonna get it.)

Anyway – that’s not the kinda judge I was meaning – I mean a REAL Judge – one that goes ‘bang-bang’ round the clock sometimes.  And by that I mean a Taurus, which is a kind of gun.  My mom gave it to me for Christmas.  Just goes to show what kinda family I have or sumthin’, don’t it?  A big ol’ gun like that – five rounds, all made for killing, albeit at close range.  I did not want it nor did I ask for one but there it was.  It was hers – a Christmas gift from my father to her – but he wanted one himself, so he bought it for her (overpaid, too!), pissing her off – and him knowing damn well it was way too much gun for her (or anyone else for that matter!)  Well,  I’ve got it now.  Now I’ve got enough rounds and guns and ammunition (and if that ain’t enough, I got the stuff to make MORE ammunition down in the barn) . . . to outfit a platoon.  Of course some of the weapons are wild and crazy – there’s the fifty caliber pistol; or the Kentucky long rifle if you really wanna go wild – or how about an SKS (Cheap chinese assault weapon) with double backed thirty round clips?  What do I need that for?, you ask.  Not a thing.  But I’ll tell you this:

The family is all agreed: If it comes down to a Zombie Apocalypse – they’re all coming to my house.  I’m well armed, and quite prepared.  (“Come on, guys – can’t you nail gram with that crossbow or something?  I’d really rather not use a gun on her . . .”  (faint whine while zombies grumble along)

We wouldn’t mention the swords and knives (and yes, some of them are from when we were kids, where I learned a rapier is much better than a broadsword when it comes to actually fighting someone – my old rapier’s hand guard is bent and twisted from some mighty hacks; the broadsword’s missing the crossbar on the handle . . . yeah.  My!  We had such an interesting childhood . . . raised in a military way . . .)

My dad: he gave me a pen that doesn’t work, or at least the light on the top of it doesn’t.  It is dead.  I put it in a drawer for sometime in the future.  Maybe I’ll put batteries in it; maybe I will not.  We’ll see.  They both gave me some money, tho . . .

My brother gave me a shirt with horizontal stripes.  It’s really much too large – around the middle, that is.  I’m suspecting that he bought it – found he looked like a beach ball walking around on stilts – and that’s why it’s in my drawer.  He never even wore the darned thing – but he’s gotta sense of fashion (damn him!) – while I have none myself.  The colorblind thing doesn’t help real well (though it sure comes in handy spotting camouflage, I’ll tell you that!  Certain ‘colors’ stand out as bright pinks if the dye patterns aren’t quite right . . . the Army used to use folks like me for that.)  He also gave us an old used piece of network gear for use with an LPT printer . . . can’t use it.  We’re long past LPT printing by now – rarely ‘print’ anything anyway – no need to . . . but that’s okay.  We’ll put it with our collection of gear (another part of that Zombie Apocalypse thing) – for use with the dozen or so computers down in the barn (not that they’re being used . . . they are just part of our collection).

No kids.  Because you know what?  Christmas comes around again next weekend – when the kids get home from their various ‘moms’ and ‘pops’ – come to see their other moms and pops and assorted grandparents and things . . . more gifts to shower on those sheltered arms . . . (because, you know, each gift is individually scrutinized by every single parent . . . making sure you aren’t crossing parenting lines – whatever lines those may be, the rules arbitrarily set and changed by each parent in turn . . .).  Some are always to be criticized or frowned on, no matter what you do . . .

But anyways . . . just for fun some of what we’ve done, plus bought the wife some roses today . . . just for the love of it . . . the fun of it – and seeing her face light up . . . again after twenty-six years . . .

ya’ll have fun, take care – do good at your jobs (we all need some of your taxdollars – saved you some in court costs, by the way!) – and live life large if that’s the way you wanna be . . .

and personally: I’d recommend it.

Living life large, that is. 🙂

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About jeffssong

JW is an adult childhood abuse survivor with DID*. He grew up in a violent family devoid of love and affection. He is a military brat and veteran. He no longer struggles with that past. In 1976 JW began writing "The Boy". It took 34 years to complete. It is currently on Kindle (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004T3IVKK ), or if you prefer hard copy, on Amazon ( http://www.amazon.com/Boy-J-W/dp/1461022681). JW resides somewhere in the deep South. He is disabled and living with family. Note: Please feel free to take what you need; all is free to all. With that in mind, keep it that way to others. Thank you. We have 3 Blogs - One for our younger days, 0-10 (The Little Shop of Horrors); one for our Teen Alter and his 'friends' (also alters) with a lot of poetry; and finally "my" own, the Song of Life (current events and things)
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